


The Savage Price of Piety

by gwennolmarie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Blasphemy, Christmas, Coitus Interruptus, Comfort Food, Complicated Relationships, Desperation, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eating Disorders, Fighting Dirty, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Limbs, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Other, Pet Names, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sparring, Training, Trans Character, can i safely call this, false idolatry, jack and gabe are like an old married couple who no longer sleep in the same bed, kinda lmao, non binary jesse mccree, now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: "This feels like a fuckin' dream," Jesse says roughly, "Like someone in Deadlock got sick of my shit and knocked me into a coma and this is what my conscience decided to make up."Gabe rubs at his jaw slowly."Why would you dream of this?"Jesse shifts and rests his chin on one of his knees."I'm safe," Jesse whispers, "I'm valued, in some way, I have potential, right?"Jesse looks up at his commander for an answer.Gabe nods once, a slow dip of his chin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Poor Isaac by The Airborne Toxic Event 
> 
> i'm ignoring everything to do with ashe and that version of deadlock so pretend it's 2017 and we don't know about any of that or smthn
> 
> there is a scene where jesse outs himself as being trans under the assumption that gabe already knows in case that's a needed tw

_What’s a god to a commander?_

The fifth time in a row Reyes gets Jesse on his back on the training mats the younger wants to scream.

It takes a few seconds to get his breathing back in order, he wouldn’t have had the air to make noise anyhow.

“Jesus,” Jesse hisses and pounds on his own chest, trying to get his lungs full.

“Not quite,” The Commander jokes, but it’s impatient, “Get up.”

Jesse struggles to his bare feet with narrowed eyes, brushing his hair back behind his ears.

“You wanna actually _think_ about what you’re trying to do this time?” Reyes asks.

“Havin’ quite a few thoughts,” Jesse mutters but the older man just rolls his eyes.

“Try again, McCree.”

Jesse sucks his teeth and considers the older man before lunging.

Reyes’s hand curls around his right shoulder, so he ducks left and bites savagely at the side of his commander’s ribs through the athletic mesh.

“Jesus,” Reyes spits and shoves the younger away.

“Not quite,” Jesse snarls and wipes his mouth with a disgusted expression the taste of fabric softener, sweet and flowery on his tongue.

“Holy shit, you broke skin,” Reyes says, looking down at the wound with one hand shoving up his shirt.

Jesse snorts a laugh and wipes his mouth again.

“That count as a hit, Sir?” Jesse asks bitterly.

“This isn’t fucking Deadlock, McCree,” Reyes drops his shirt and closes the space between them to curl the younger’s collar into his fist.

“Really?” Jesse looks around, blinking in false-surprise.

Reyes growls in annoyance and the grip on Jesse’s shirt tightens, the ribbing of the collar digging into the younger’s nape.

“That shit won’t cut it here.”

“Blackwatch, the merc under-belly of Overwatch, doesn’t allow a couple-a...?” Jesse snaps his teeth up at Reyes’ face like a dog.

The Commander doesn’t flinch but his eyes do narrow further.

“You ever make it to the field you do whatever the hell it takes to complete the mission as a success, but here?” Reyes gestures to the training room around them then jostles Jesse.

Even with his feet firmly planted Jesse still feels like a ragdoll against the older man’s strength.

“So, what? Y’all train to fight squeaky clean?” Jesse’s brows furrow, “Seems like a waste.”

“A… waste…” Reyes echoes in a dull tone.

Jesse shrugs and pokes a finger, hard, into the bite-mark.

Reyes clenches his teeth and tenses.

“You’re still in the evaluation phase, McCree.”

“That a threat?”

“Oh,” Reyes laughs lowly and it twists something in Jesse’s gut, “Absolutely.”

“So, I’m just supposed to let you toss me around? You know there ain’t a chance in hell I’m doing any damage to you the white hat way.”

“I was just waiting for you to give up,” Reyes smiles, eyes sharp, “Now we can move on to defensive maneuvers.”

“I ain’t givin’ up,” Jesse protests.

“No? Did you not just admit you couldn’t do damage?”

“I can,” Jesse says and jabs harder at the already-healing wound, “Just not your way.”

Reyes brings his other hand up, crossing his wrists and pulling down in each direction on Jesse’s collar.

The younger blinks widely as he feels the blood-flow to his head being restricted.

“Break my hold, feel free not to do it _my way.”_

“You sure ‘bout that?” Jesse rasps.

Reyes narrows his eyes but nods once.

Jesse’s mouth pulls into a feral grin and he drags his finger down to his commander’s waistband, then adds his other hand.

Right as the older man opens his mouth to say something Jesse lets go and drops all his body weight, curling up and lunging forward between Reyes’s legs.

He’s small enough he slips through easily and a less prepared opponent would be thrown to the floor behind him.

Reyes manages to stay on his feet but he does let go.

Jesse turns to sit and leans back on his hands, grin still in place as he studies the tense lines of his commanders back.

Reyes fumes silently, shoulders halfway to his ears with how tight he’s holding himself.

He lets out a forceful breath, rights his pants and turns around to face the younger.

Jesse makes an exaggerated sound of disappointment.

“What?” Reyes asks with his brows slightly furrowed.

“Was enjoyin’ the view, _Sir.”_

Reyes stares at the younger for a second before closing his eyes and breathing slowly to rein in his annoyance.

“Get up,” The Commander says, opening his eyes.

Jesse’s barely on his feet before Reyes spins him around has him in a chokehold.

The younger lets out a strangled sound, brings his hands up, and drags his nails harshly down Reyes’ upper arms.

The older man hisses and tightens the hold.

Jesse gasps lightly and brings his right arm up, back, and over Reyes’ head to hook on the left side of his commander’s throat and put pressure on the older man’s windpipe.

It hurts his shoulder like hell but it gets Reyes unsettled.

Jesse moves his left leg between Reyes’, ankle behind the older man’s.

He lifts his right leg so his shin is in the crook of the older man’s thigh and hip.

He twists his body, using Reyes’ own as leverage to push off of.

He doesn’t have a lot of muscle but the majority is in his thighs, so he presses and presses out while twisting but it doesn’t feel like the Commander’s hold is breaking anytime soon.

 _‘Well,’_ he thinks, _‘I have permission anyhow.’_

So he uses his chin to turn his head and get his teeth dug into the meat of Reyes’ forearm.

The Commander hisses and drops Jesse.

The younger winces at the shock of pain that travels from the palms of his hands up his wrists but it’s worth it when he turns around and sees fire in Reyes’ eyes.

Then Jesse realizes he feels light, because he knows the older man can’t kill him.

Isn’t allowed to, no matter how much Jesse pisses him off.

Had he tried this shit with some of the big guys in Deadlock he’d’ve been shot in seconds.

Everyone’s disposable in that environment, even those considered friends or family, because, ultimately, it’s die or be detained.

Jesse rises from his knees and tries to subtly flex his wrists.

“I hope you're vaccinated,” Reyes mutters and smears the blood beading from the punctures.

Jesse rolls his eyes and waits.

“Get me on the mat and I’ll dismiss you for dinner,” The Commander says and settles into a balanced stance.

“And if I can’t?”

“Well,” Reyes shrugs, “Guess you’ll miss dinner.”

Jesse narrows his eyes at the older man and flicks his gaze over Reyes.

He was promised he’d be fed in Blackwatch, but they never said how often.

There’s a tightness in his throat and his brows furrow.

Jesse crosses his arms, hoping it comes off as him evaluating his options and not trying to fight off the fear bubbling in him.

Food, shelter, clothing, any basic necessity afforded to him in exchange for his service, that was the deal.

But a lot of things could be considered shelter, clothes or, hell, even food.

They could give him a blanket on the concrete, a potato sack to wear, and dog food to eat, it’d still fulfill the promise.

Jesse digs his fingers into his own biceps then drops his hands and lunges.

\--

He can’t get Reyes down.

The clock hand passes eight in the evening without them noticing.

It doesn’t occur to Jesse how long has passed until he’s on his back with Reyes’ heel in his gut and he glances over to see the clock blinking a steady ‘20:32’.

Jesse’s stomach sours and the weight makes him feel like he might puke.

He regrets skipping lunch to sneak a smoke hiding in the bushes at the edge of the outdoor shooting range.

He gives up trying to push the older man’s foot off and pats the mat below him twice.

There’s a moment of hesitation then Reyes steps back.

Jesse stares at the tiles of the ceiling.

“You gonna dismiss me?”

The Commander frowns down at him then looks up at the clock on the wall and huffs.

“Sure,” Reyes shrugs, “You’re dismissed.”

Jesse rolls over and pushes off the ground, leaving the training room and heading to his room without lifting his head or looking back.

\--

When he wakes up, the brightness in his room sets a dread in him.

The aching of his empty stomach accentuates it.

He grabs fresh clothes and his shoes then hurries to the bathroom, having gone straight into bed last night.

He showers in record time and hops through the hallway while messily lacing his military-issued boots.

Man, he misses his _boots._

His guns, his hats, wearing anything other than fucking _black._

He gets lost in his frantic crossing of the building’s grounds and has to backtrack twice before he makes it to the cafeteria.

He peaks into the windows and sees that breakfast is still in full swing.

He lets out a relieved breath then walks past the doors, intending to go to the bathroom and do the business who was in too much of a hurry for earlier.

“McCree.”

Jesse swallows nervously and turns around to face Commander Morrison.

“Sir,” He greets quietly.

Reyes he can fuck with to some extent, but, even without evidence, he has a tugging in his gut that tells him Morrison is the one who decides whether he actually gets thrown into a cell.

“Doctor Ziegler’s passed on your results,” The man gestures with the tablet in his hands, “I want to go over something with you.”

\--

“So... I’m sick,” Jesse condenses the information slowly.

“Yes, it’s likely a carry-over of malnutrition and environmental pollution where you grew up,” Morrison says, just as slowly.

“So, that radiation shit is true, huh?” Jesse jokes, brows furrowed.

“Doctor Ziegler has created a plan of supplements and some nano-therapy in hopes of doing some damage control and preventing further harm.”

Jesse rubs at his neck and frowns at Morrison.

“Shots?”

“Ah, I think so,” The older man admits.

Jesse purses his lips rubs his neck a little harder then drops his hands to his lap.

His transition was a back and forth crapshoot of trial and error but the one thing he avoided like the plague was needles.

“Should I go see her today?”

“A-S-A-P,” Morrison says, and takes his tablet back from Jesse.

The younger gets one last glance at the little timestamp in the corner and feels his heart sink.

Breakfast is over.

\--

The doctor is probably the most neutral person towards him since he joined and he commends her professionalism.

She gives him a case of pills and a sheet of instructions on when to take which, what side effects he can expect, and which side effects need to be reported immediately.

She also spends a good half-hour with him talking about any symptoms he feels on the regular, and which could be explained by the radiation poisoning and the vitamin deficiencies.

Then came the shot.

Jesse doesn’t watch.

Can’t.

It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected but the feeling makes him light-headed and nauseous, regardless.

After he’s monitored for any immediate allergic reaction he’s released on instruction to skip group-training and stay in his room, as the medication would likely cause drowsiness.

When he gets to his room he strips the dirty sheets then roughly spreads out of the comforter and lays down.

\--

When he wakes up for the second time his eyelids feel like lead weights.

His brain wakes up at an average rate but he can’t seem to get his eyes all the way open, let alone to focus on anything in particular in the dark.

Then he remembers why he woke up, as the second, or maybe third, rapping on the door startles him.

He tries to respond but the noises from his mouth don’t sound like words.

The door opens, the lights flick on, and Reyes steps in with a stern look on his face.

When he sees the state of Jesse he raises a thick brow.

“Howdy,” Jesse manages tiredly.

“Mercy said you might feel drowsy, not pass out for ten hours,” The older man says slowly.

“Oh,” Jesse fights his eyes from falling shut again, “Ten?”

The younger struggles to turn his head and look at his bedside clock.

He groans miserably and rubs at his eyes.

He feels like he could sleep for a decade.

“Any side effects? Hives? Headache?” Reyes asks stiffly.

Jesse lifts his arms to look at them then tilts his head and yeah there’s a headache but he thinks it might be from not eating.

He’d gotten too used to having at least two meals a day in the last two weeks apparently.

Jesse presses the heel of his palm into his aching stomach and closes his eyes.

“You missed dinner… and lunch,” Reyes comments.

“And breakfast, and dinner, and lunch,” Jesse mumbles tiredly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reyes hisses and slips out of the small room, the door falling shut with a heavy ‘clunk’ in his wake.

\--

Jesse opens his eyes again when his door reopens.

“Can you sit up?” Reyes asks stiffly, carrying a canvas bag.

Jesse struggles up and his commander actually steps closer to help, the door swinging closed.

A hand under his side steadies him as Jesse scoots back to sit against the wall.

The bag is dropped into his lap and he peers inside before taking the contents out one-by-one.

Mixed-fruit juice, a small container of orange segments, and a Tupperware of something steaming-hot.

Jesse finds a fork in the bag and opens the container, sifting through the contents then looking up at Reyes for an explanation.

“It’s just veggies and rice,” The Commander shrugs and leans back against the closed door, watching.

Jesse finds a bit that he thinks is a piece of carrot and pops it into his mouth raising an eyebrow at the spice.

It’s good though, warm and flavorful, and he’s starving.

He eats everything but the onions.

“Why are you skipping meals?” Reyes asks bluntly, “I wouldn’t have had you miss dinner if I knew you hadn’t eaten lunch.”

“Uh-huh,” Jesse says skeptically and opens the juice.

“Why would we starve you?” Reyes asks with his nose scrunched up in affront.

“To keep me desperate,” Jesse says simply, like it’s obvious.

“That what they did in Deadlock?”

“Sometimes,” Jesse sets the bottle on the dresser then starts on the oranges, “Usually everything’s a trade-off.”

“Explain.”

Jesse sighs and chews on an orange segment.

“McCree, that’s an order.”

“Oh? Is it?” Jesse huffs and picks up another segment but doesn’t move to eat it, “Fine. Everyone in Deadlock was in charge of _somethin'._ Me? Maintainin’ and procurin’ weapons for the main members.”

Jesse shifts and sets the oranges on the dresser.

“Some were in charge of the food we got, most of it was shitty, hardly any was fresh, but desperation is a very powerful tool, as I’m sure you know. So, every time you wanted to eat you had to make an exchange. Tools, money, information, sex. Anything was game, dependent on the distributor.”

Reyes is frowning heavily down at him.

“Here? The exchange is that I follow orders. So, lunch I skipped because I wasn’t followin’ orders, dinner I didn’t earn, breakfast I was called away, lunch and dinner I slept through.”

“How were you not following orders?”

Jesse gives a bitter smile and reaches behind the dresser and pulls out a cigarette carton, flipping the lid to show it’s emptiness.

“It was my last one,” The younger says sadly.

Reyes shakes his head in disbelief then huffs a quiet laugh.

“Apparently, we need better surveillance on you,” The Commander mutters.

\--

  
Jesse hates to admit that he starts warming up to Reyes after that night.

The dynamic is different on Monday evening when they meet for training.

Jesse’s taking a breather, back flat on the mat as Reyes leans against the wall a few feet away.

“How’d you get into this?” Jesse asks quietly, with a wide gesture at the room.

“Overwatch? Or Blackwatch?” The Commander asks hesitantly.

“Either… Both?”

“The military evolved, I got caught up in it,” Reyes says stiffly.

Jesse glances over at the avoidant answer and Reyes is looking right back at him.

The younger lifts his hands in surrender then rolls over to stand.

Reyes walks back to the mat.

“Alright, Boss, what d’you want me to do?” Jesse asks, saccharine.

Reyes rolls his eyes and holds out his hand to Jesse.

Jesse quirks a brow and sets his hand in the larger one.

Reyes immediately raises their hands so Jesse is forced off-balanced.

“You trust me now or something?” Reyes teases.

Jesse glowers at the older man.

The Commander lets Jesse’s hand go then gestures to the younger vaguely.

“How have you been dealing with the meds?”

“Fine, I suppose,” Jesse shrugs.

“You wanna try and take me down again?” The Commander asks.

Jesse quirks his lips to the side and glances around the room to look at the clock display on the wall.

Reyes is observant, though, and follows the younger's gaze.

"Hey," The Commander says to get Jesse's attention.

The younger looks back at him with a guarded expression.

"That was a mistake on my part, I was frustrated and I took it out on you."

Jesse squints up at him in disbelief.

Reyes rolls his eyes and makes a 'come on' motion.

Jesse flexes his fingers then curls them into fists and lowers himself slightly.

Reyes watches him with crossed arms.

The younger ducks and slips past Reyes' side before pushing all of his weight against the Commander's back.

Reyes hardly budges.

"God, you fuckin' brick wall," Jesse mutters and circles back around to Reyes' front.

Reyes snorts in amusement and Jesse openly glares.

"You're all speed, no strength," The Commander says.

"No," Jesse lifts up one slender arm and looks at Reyes tiredly, "Really?"

 _"So,_ stop trying to overpower me."

Jesse sighs heavily through his nose and looks Reyes up and down before getting an idea.

The Commander raises a brow at the sudden change in expression.

"Sir?"

"Hm?"

"What, that you've seen, would you say is my greatest skill?"

Reyes frowns at the younger.

"Your marksmanship," The Commander says.

Jesse presses his lips together, pretending to consider.

"Want to know the one you haven't seen?"

The Commander gives him an exasperated look.

"Guess it can wait," Jesse shrugs, "Ain't you supposed to be trainin’ me?"

"Evaluating, forming a plan around your current, lacking, skillset."

Jesse frowns briefly before leveling his expression.

"I give up."

"What?" Reyes asks, baffled.

"I can't take you down, I know when I'm fightin' a losin' battle."

Reyes stares at him incredulously for a moment and then throws his hands out slightly in exasperation.

"Let me try and break more holds, I have a chance at that 'least."

"Fine," The Commander mutters and steps forward to grab both of Jesse's forearms and twists the younger around so his arms are crossed sharply behind his lower back.

Jesse bites down on a hiss of pain and wriggles to test the hold.

Absolutely no give.

Jesse grumbles and struggles for a moment before managing to press his shin against the Commander's knee.

He leans all his weight back against the older man and the twists as he rocks forward.

It pulls intensely on his shoulders and tears sting his eyes but he manages to turn enough to get a leg between Reyes'.

The Commander frowns down at him, confused and then taken off guard when Jesse lifts his thigh to press into Reyes' crotch.

"McCree," The Commander says warningly.

"Do I still have permission to do things my way?"

Reyes' nose scrunches up before the older man nods hesitantly.

Jesse moves before he can lose his resolve, gripping at the hem of the Commander's shirt and pressing his hip against the Commander's crotch.

Reyes' frown deepens and the older man squeezes Jesse's arms tighter and the younger feels his chest tighten briefly in fear at the strength.

He knows there'll be bruises there by tomorrow.

"Come on, Sir," Jesse says sweetly, "I can feel you. You normally this big?"

Reyes' nostrils flare but the man doesn't answer.

Jesse whistles lowly and glances down at the Commander's confined dick before looking back up and pressing closer to the older man.

"Is it from the serum?" Jesse asks happily, "Bet you're a fun fuck. You like a nice cunt full up and stretched around you?"

The Commander hisses and let's go of him, taking a few steps back.

"Jeez," Jesse shakes out his arms, "You rough in bed too?"

"McCree," Reyes bites out, deadly quiet.

Jesse freezes and his teeth click with how fast he shuts his mouth.

Reyes let's out a noisy exhale and brings a hand up to rub at his temples.

Jesse doesn't move, eyes on the ground, a vicious sense of danger like a lead weight in his gut.

Maybe that was too far.

"Christ," Reyes mutters, "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"It worked," Jesse whispers hesitantly.

He hears Reyes make a frustrated noise and looks up to see the Commander stride to the doors and disappears into the hallway.

Jesse feels goosebumps prickle his arms and rubs them roughly, feeling the tender flesh where the Commander had squeezed.

Jesse frowns around the empty room, a creeping guilt in his gut and an itching worry in his throat.

"Shit," He mutters and moves to sit on the mat in the farthest corner from the doors, drawing his knees to his chest and watching the doors worriedly.

Reyes could be doing anything, could be retrieving some kind of implement for corporal punishment, could be getting Commander Morrison to dismiss him from Overwatch entirely.

Jesse rubs his sternum where his heart is aching from beating so fast.

"Shit, shit, shit," He mutter and lets his head fall onto his knees.

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut and waits.

\--

His head lolling to the side is what wakes him up.

Jesse feels his heart-rate skyrocket as he recalls his situation, lifting his head and glancing around the empty training room.

The clock on the wall reads just past six in the morning.

Jesse swallows and looks down only to bite back a hiss at the sight of his arms.

Dark purple marks, the perfect shape of Reyes' large hands.

"Goddamn," Jesse mutters and tentatively prods one bruise.

The ache seems bone-deep.

He groans quietly and folds in on himself, glancing over his knees at the door.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do, what might happen if he leaves the room without being dismissed.

His stomach growls and he exhales shakily before hugging his knees, closing his eyes tightly.

\--

The sound of the door banging open has him jolting out of his panic-induced daze.

Commander Reyes is standing just inside the threshold staring at him incredulously.

Jesse feels cold dread creep up his spine and over his shoulders as he meets dark eyes then quickly lowers his gaze to the mat.

"We've been looking for you for hours," Reyes says haltingly, "You missed your appointment with Doctor Ziegler, and you weren't in your room."

Jesse swallows thickly and doesn't know how to respond.

"You've been here the whole time?"

"You didn't dismiss me," Jesse says hoarsely.

"Jesus," Reyes mutters angrily and steps into the room, letting the door close behind him.

Jesse tenses hard enough he hears a couple of joints pop.

He keeps his wide-eyed gaze on the floor as his hands tremble in front of his ankles.

He hears Reyes walking towards him and takes a sharp breath in, holding perfectly still.

Wishing he could disappear completely.

"Get up," Reyes says shortly.

Jesse uses the wall to scramble up and stand to attention on shaky legs, his gaze still low.

"Why didn't you go to your room at curfew?"

"I-," Jesse chokes out, "You didn't… I thought you were gonna come back and… but you never dismissed me."

The minute of silence in response is suffocating and the younger can feel himself beginning to panic.

"Thought I was going to come back and what?"

"I don't… The punishment system hasn't… No one's told me…" Jesse struggles to get his racing thoughts to make sense verbally.

"You thought I was going to punish you? Why would I leave?"

"To get a cane… or somethin’."

Reyes' feet shift a little and Jesse tenses right back up.

"That what they did in Deadlock? Beat you?" Reyes asks quietly.

"Not, like, for fun," Jesse mutters, "Only if I fucked up."

"Do you think you fucked up? Last night?"

Jesse makes a little noise of confusion.

"McCree?"

"Is this bait? I don't understand," Jesse whispers thickly.

"Bait?"

"I can't," Jesse takes a deep breath, "Either way I answer that question deserves a punishment."

Reyes falls quiet again.

"You're not going to be punished," Reyes says, hushed, "I gave you permission to fight dirty."

"Then why?" Jesse finally looks up, brows furrowed tightly in confusion, "You got so mad…"

Reyes' nose scrunches up in irritation before he looks over the younger, eyes landing on the dark bruises, his brows drawing together.

The Commander sighs and takes a few steps back before rubbing a hand over his face, he pulls out his phone and sends an update to Morrison and Ziegler letting them know that Jesse was safe and would be under Reyes' watch the rest of the day.

"Come on," The Commander says roughly and turns to open the door, waiting for Jesse who follows stiffly.

"Follow me," Reyes instructs.

So Jesse follows.

\--

The Commander leads him to the medical ward where the doctor is sitting on one of the cots looking impatient.

She looks up as they enter and raises a brow in question.

The other joins when she spots the bruises on Jesse’s arms.

Jesse sees Reyes shake his head sharply out of the corner of his eye.

Jesse takes every direction and order obediently, sitting on the cot, holding still as his vitals are taken.

Holding out his arm and only barely wincing when the doctor slides the needle in.

The Commander is watching him, over-aware of the lingering fear and resignation in the younger’s expression.

“You should rest, as much as possible for the remainder of the day,” The Doctor says.

Then she goes into her office and they’re left alone.

Jesse softly rubs at the injection site where it’s starting to ache, though not as bad as his forearms.

“Come on,” Reyes says again and Jesse slips off the cot to follow.

\--

Reyes leads him to a small office with a placard on the door.

‘Gabriel Reyes,’ it says.

Jesse wonders if anyone calls him Gabe, if the hardass would allow anyone that leniency.

The Commander holds the door open for him and he slips inside the dark room quickly.

Reyes' vision must be enhanced because he moves through the dark with ease whereas Jesse lingers, scared to move for fear of running into something.

A soft, golden glow lights up the room from the corner.

Reyes opens a cabinet that turns out to be a small fridge and produces another set of Tupperware.

He sets them on the large desk then sits behind it, gesturing to the chairs opposite.

Jesse sits.

"Eat."

Jesse opens the smaller container to find more orange segments, pops one in his mouth and chews slowly.

"We need to talk about this."

Jesse stills and glances up at the Commander.

"That was not what I had in mind when I consented to you fighting dirty," Reyes says slowly.

"It worked," Jesse insists in a small voice and winces at how weak he sounds.

The Commander frowns at him.

"It did, however, it could also be considered sexual misconduct."

Jesse's brows lift them furrow and he picks the pith off an orange segment.

"You weren't hard, I wasn't wet, does it still count as sex?"

"You weren't…" Reyes frowns at him before his expression relaxes in realization, "Oh."

Jesse knows that 'Oh', he's familiar with it.

"You didn't know?" Jesse asks quietly.

"It's… Not pertinent to evaluating you," Reyes says slowly, "It wasn't in your file."

Jesse presses his lips together and picks more at the orange.

"Regardless," Reyes clears his throat, "You don't need to _have sex_ for it to be misconduct."

Jesse sets the container in his lap and meets the Commander's eyes for the first time today.

"So, I shouldn't do that," Jesse says.

"Not really, no."

"Then what advantage do I have in close quarters?"

"You…" Reyes falters and squints at the younger.

Jesse's mouth quirks to the side unhappily.

“Unsettlin’ people, that’s what I’ve always relied on,” Jesse says, “Bein’ crass and sharp-shootin’.”

Reyes sucks on his teeth, looking over the younger before leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.

“Keep eating,” The Commander orders with a gesture at the containers.

“This your lunch?”

“Yes, but, unlike you, I have access to a kitchen twenty-four-seven here.”

Jesse brings his legs up to sit cross-legged in the chair and pops another segment in his mouth.

His head is starting to feel a little foggy, and he can feel himself swaying minutely to counteract the lack of balance.

Reyes has one of those tablets like Morrison showed him the other day, crazy high-tech things.

Jesse watches the older man as he eats, finishing the oranges and moving to the salad.

He picks through some of the less familiar ingredients, plants so brightly colored he’d swear they were fake if he didn’t know Overwatch’s strict rules on whole foods.

“You really didn’t know?” Jesse asks hesitantly.

“Nah, Kid,” Reyes shrugs, “I’m assuming only Jack and the Doc know.”

“Jack?”

“Commander Morrison.”

“Ah,” Jesse pushes around the food with his fork, “Can it stay that way?”

Reyes looks up from the tablet to study the younger.

Jesse hasn’t lifted his head, absorbed in rearranging the remnants of the salad.

“It’s up to you,” Reyes says honestly, “If there’s anything that might interfere with a job, later down the line, then I expect you to come to me, but anyone else?”

Reyes waits for Jesse to glance up to him then shrugs.

“You made up your mind then?” The younger asks quietly.

Reyes opens his mouth to protest, then recalls his own words and his expression falls into exasperation at himself.

“Yeah, I suppose I have.”

\--

“McCree, I know you can aim better than that.”

“With a bullet, _sure,”_ Jesse huffs and rolls one of the throwing knives between his fingers.

“Same concept.”

“Ah, okay,” Jesse says sarcastically, “I get it.”

“Get what?” Reyes asks with narrowed eyes.

“Big super soldier is good at everythin’, expects his recruits to be the same,” Jesse says bitterly.

He tenses when Reyes levels him with an annoyed look.

“You know that’s not it.”

“Feels like it,” Jesse mutters.

Aims and throws the knife, hitting a few inches left of the bullseye.

“You’re not trying.”

“Yes, I am!”

“No, McCree,” Reyes sighs, “I mean you’re putting the same effort in as you would for shooting.”

Jesse stares at him blankly.

“Take it slower, okay? Think about the motions you’re going through instead of just throwing it in the same space of time it normally takes you to aim and pull the trigger.”

Jesse frowns at the older man for a moment then retrieves the throwing knife.

Coming back to stand at the ten-yard mark, next to his commander.

He glances at Reyes briefly then focuses on the target, shifting the weight of the knife in his hand, pulling it back over his shoulder.

Breathing.

Breathing.

Then flinging the knife at the center of the target.

It’s not _quite_ dead center, but it’s in the bullseye.

Jesse lets out a relieved sigh before rubbing his temples.

Reyes’ warm hand lands on the back of his neck and squeezes lightly causing him to flinch.

“Your head bothering you?”

“Mm, yeah, Doc said it was a side effect.”

“Nothing she can give you for it?”

Jesse shakes his head slowly and unconsciously presses into the Commander’s touch.

Reyes studies the younger carefully.

He’s noticed Jesse’s reactions to being touched in a casual way, not rough or ill intentioned.

It’s pretty easy to come to the conclusion that the younger is starved for it.

Reyes tilts his head to look at the younger then softly rubs his thumb up and down the crook of Jesse’s neck.

The younger leans into it, moving a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Come on,” The Commander says, an odd twisting in his gut, “Hit the bullseye one more time then you can take off.”

Jesse lifts his head in surprise.

“Really?”

Reyes shrugs and gestures towards the target.

Jesse reluctantly pulls away.

He hits millimeters from dead center.

\--

Reyes learns over the next week that Jesse responds extremely well to positive physical contact.

It helps break down that last bit of barrier that Jesse had clung to, still uncertain of this future.

Simple things, just clapping the younger’s shoulder, or cupping the younger’s nape, once even patting Jesse’s head, the younger responding by lifting his head into the touch immediately, Reyes’ fingers ending up combing briefly through the soft strands.

The Commander avoids training one-on-one with Jesse until the end of the week, where the other recruits were allowed to leave, and Jesse had to stay behind with no one to spar with.

\--

“Come on, McCree,” Reyes says with a brush of the backs of his knuckles over Jesse’s shoulder, getting the younger to stand up and follow without hesitation.

A puppy at his heels.

He can feel McCree practically radiating anxiety as they draw closer to the private training room.

Reyes stops in front of the door and only pauses for a second before opening the door wide and gesturing for Jesse to enter.

The younger ducks his head, awkwardly rubbing at his arms as he hurries into the room, walking to the middle of the mats.

Reyes follows and goes grab the younger's arm to move Jesse into a hold the younger hasn't learned yet but as soon as his fingers enter Jesse's peripheral vision the younger flinches away.

The Commander's hand lingers awkwardly in the air before moving and firmly clasping the younger's arm, drawing Jesse close.

Reyes flicks his gaze over the backs of the younger’s tense shoulders.

Jesse doesn't fight it, though Reyes can feel the younger trembling under his touch.

"Lift your arms like you're blocking," The Commander says.

Jesse's quick to comply, but Reyes thinks it's more out of fear than trust.

Reyes moves his hands up and captures Jesse's wrists before kicking in the younger's knees and spinning Jesse around in one fluid motion.

Jesse ends up on his knees with his arms stretched to their limit above and behind his head.

The younger is still for a moment then lifts his head to look up at his commander.

"Think you can break this?" Reyes asks evenly.

Even if he's distracted by Jesse's expression, the shuttered look, the feral touch of a cornered animal.

"Your way?" Jesse asks hoarsely after a moment.

Reyes is quiet, contemplating.

Jesse's fingers curl against the sensation of blood not quite reaching his fingertips the way it should.

"If… If you keep this between us," Reyes says hesitantly, "Do whatever it takes."

Jesse's expression somehow shutters further at that and then slowly softens.

The younger twists his wrists in Reyes' hold, testing, shifting his body weight around before leaning in closer to the older man’s legs.

Jesse licks his lips nervously and tilts his head back further to look up at Reyes.

The change is subtle but, by God, does Reyes see it.

Jesse relaxes slightly, his head lolling back further, lips slightly parted, eyes studying his commander.

Reyes blinks in response to the heated look being aimed at him.

“Sir?” Jesse asks and it’s the softest Reyes has heard the younger’s voice since their meeting.

“Hm?”

“Anyone call you Gabe?” Jesse asks teasingly, eyes flicking over the older man’s face.

And even though Reyes _knows_ he’s being played he can feel himself falling into the trap.

“Not really.”

“No?” Jesse asks and twists his arms, pushing up on his knees and arching closer to Reyes, “Not even in bed?”

The Commander’s brows furrow slightly then smooth, he shifts his focus to his grip on the younger’s wrists.

He doesn’t think about how good Jesse looks right now.

“Nobody moans it for you?” Jesse asks, tone pitying, “Nobody begs?”

Reyes swallows tightly and breathes evenly through his nose.

“Really?” Jesse asks and sways in the hold, shifting to widen his knees apart.

“Really,” Reyes says then immediately mentally berates himself for answering.

“I really did feel you last time,” Jesse whispers, “You’re real big, Sir. I bet you could have me beggin’ pretty anytime you wanted.”

“That so?” The Commander asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, tilting his head to crack his neck, and keeping up the facade that this isn’t affecting him.

That he isn’t thinking of the younger in this position under different circumstances.

“You know once I realized you weren’t gonna punish me, I kept thinkin’ ‘bout it?” Jesse asks and Reyes could swear that the younger almost sounds _sincere,_ “The size of you? You weren’t even hard…”

Jesse glances down but his commander’s pants are too loose in the crotch to tell anything.

The younger chews on his lower lip for a second, feeling heat on the nape of his neck.

“Wasn’t wet then, but sure was a couple nights later,” Jesse says, barely above a whisper as he looks back up to meet Reyes’ guarded, dark eyes, “Not sure what they think ‘bout that ‘round here.”

“About what?”

Jesse smiles at the question and puts on his best ‘fucked-out’ look.

A little hazy, a little desperate.

“Playin’ favorites, Sir,” Jesse says sweetly, “I’d love to be your favorite. I’d let you fuck me whenever you wanted. Wherever you wanted. I’ve heard the jokes about me bein’ your loyal dog.”

Reyes feels caught, eyes flicking over Jesse’s face, trying to find a crack in this facade that he can see through.

It’s seamless.

“I’ll be your bitch,” Jesse promises, “If you let me. I’d only ever come with your name on my lips.”

Reyes watches as Jesse bites his lip, looks away coyly.

Murmurs.

“Already have, once.”

“Shit,” Reyes says and lets go.

Jesse falters at being dropped so quickly but catches himself and looks up.

There’s no hint of the character the younger was playing and Reyes is astonished at how quickly Jesse can switch faces.

It’ll be invaluable, eventually.

Jesse’s watching him, serious and a little scared, eyes sharp and focused on the older man’s face.

“Shit,” Reyes murmurs, and takes a few steps back, rubbing his jaw, trying to collect himself.

He knows Jesse was looking for it earlier.

He’s glad the dark training pants are keeping his stiff cock well concealed.

Jesse’s sitting perfectly still, sitting on his heels, hands in fists on his thighs.

He looks comfortable like that.

Like the pose is second-nature.

Like someone conditioned it into him.

The Commander takes a deep breath and cracks his neck in the other direction before stepping forward and offering a hand to Jesse.

He’s not sure if it’s progress when the younger doesn’t flinch.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Most of Overwatch, Blackwatch included, is given a conditional two-week leave.

The last week of December and the first week of January.

The Commanders Morrison and Reyes stay behind.

Second in Command Ana Amari is given special permission to leave in order to spend time with her daughter.

There are a few stragglers of both Overwatch and Blackwatch who have nowhere to spend the holidays, but, for the most part, the grounds are largely empty.

\--

Gradually Jesse is allowed access to weapons in combat, all under the pretense of evaluation.

Even if it _is_ just pretense.

\--

Reyes taps his staff against Jesse’s ankle to get the younger’s attention, Jesse having spaced out.

Jesse blinks slowly as he comes back, loosely gripping his own staff as he meets Reyes’ eyes.

“You alright, Kid?” His commander asks slowly.

Jesse twists his spine to stretch and rubs at his head lightly.

“Doc added a new med, makes me dis-... Uh, dis-...”

“Disassociate?”

“Mm, yeah, that,” Jesse tilts his head to crack his neck, a habit he’d picked up from Reyes.

“How long is this side effect going to last?”

“She said it could last the whole time I’m on the med, but that I shouldn’t have to be on it all that long.”

“Hm,” Reyes lifts up his staff and taps Jesse’s side with the end, “You wanna take off today?”

Jesse frowns and rubs at his chin lightly.

“No offense, Sir, but I’d rather suffer through this than sit in my room until dinner,” Jesse says hesitantly.

“Eventually you’ll be allowed access to electronics,” Reyes says with a shrug, “We can try and make a case to Jack for you to be allowed at least a tablet, no data.”

“You think Commander Morrison would give on that?” Jesse asks, brows lifted with skepticism.

“If I tell you something, can you promise me you won’t repeat it?” Reyes asks, suddenly serious.

Jesse’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before he slowly nods.

“Jack has a bit of a soft spot towards you,” Reyes says dryly, “Don’t ask me why, I don’t know, but he wouldn’t have vetted you in otherwise. Wouldn’t be badgering me for bi-weekly evals either.”

“Really?” Jesse asks, face scrunched up, “I mean, he’s been nice ‘nough, but I wouldn’t go as far as sayin’ he likes me.”

Reyes shrugs then does a fancy spin of his staff, bringing it back to his side, butt-end firmly pressed into the mat on the ground.

“You up for some hand-to-hand?” Reyes asks.

A little eager, almost excruciatingly bored of catching up on paperwork.

“I dunno…” Jesse tilts his head to either side in consideration, watching Reyes, specifically glancing down at the older man’s hand on the staff.

Making Reyes conscious of his anxious finger-tapping.

The Commander stills himself and Jesse licks his lower lip, failing to hide a sly grin.

Reyes sniffs indelicately and moves to put the staff in the corner.

“Aw, Boss,” Jesse coos, “Didn’t mean to tease you.”

Reyes huffs and catches the younger’s staff when it’s tossed to him.

\--

Jesse’s improved significantly in the short weeks under his commander’s training.

Which has to be the only reason he manages to swipe Reyes’ legs out from under the man and tackle him to the mat.

Reyes blinks rapidly in surprise, glancing from the ceiling to the younger as he tries to process what just happened.

“Holy shit,” Jesse whispers happily from his perch on the older man’s stomach.

Reyes continues looking around, a bit wide-eyed.

“You hit your head?” Jesse asks quickly, sounding sincerely worried, leaning over the older man to prod at Reyes’ curls.

The Commander swats his hand away.

“You actually getting me on my back shocked me into silence for a moment is all,” Reyes says.

Jesse huffs a short laugh then sits back, making the older man grunt slightly when the full weight of the kid, almost as tall as himself, though half as wide, is pressing down on his gut.

“I did, didn’t I?” Jesse says sounding cocky, suddenly.

Reyes rolls his eyes and lets the younger ride out the wave of success.

“Wanna do it again,” Jesse says and stands up off his commander, getting into a readied stance immediately.

“You’d be lucky for me to make that mistake twice,” Reyes huffs as he gets to his feet and Jesse pounces.

\--

Jesse’s quicker, though he’s been quick from the get-go.

But somehow he’s _quicker._

His strikes land harder.

His actions are more confident, growing bolder every time he lands a hit.

Jesse gets a knee in the older man’s side then hooks his other leg behind one of Reyes’ legs and pushes forward with the momentum.

And they both fall.

“Ow,” Jesse mutters when his leg gets trapped underneath the older man before he bounces slightly on Reyes’ stomach upon realizing he did it _again._

Reyes doesn’t want to doubt the younger…

He _wants_ this to be genuine improvement, desperately.

But there’s a sinking feeling in his gut, and he knows he’ll be confronting Doctor Ziegler as soon as possible.

“Damn, you feelin’ alright, Sir?” Jesse jokes, “Twice in one hour?”

Reyes huffs and grabs Jesse’s arms to move the younger off of him.

Jesse tenses.

The bruises are almost gone, practically just shadows on the younger’s skin at this point.

Reyes resists the urge to sooth the younger and instead slowly uses the grip to push Jesse off, mindful of Jesse’s trapped leg.

Jesse rolls onto the mat with an ‘oof’ and takes the moment to catch his breath, still giddy with adrenaline.

They both stay laying on their backs staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence.

Reyes intensely aware of the warmth of Jesse’s calf under his thigh.

Jesse stretches his arms up over his head and Reyes glances over at the movement.

“Again?” Jesse asks eagerly.

“You manage this again then I must be sick,” Reyes mutters.

Though it’s not his own health that he thinks is influencing these outcomes.

\--

Jesse makes a pained grunt when his back hits the mat, and then another sound as Reyes’ weight follows, pinning his upper arms to the mat, the older man’s strong legs rendering one of his immobile.

“Well, knew it wouldn’t last.” Jesse pants, before teasing, “Enjoyed it while it did, though.”

He tilts his head back to look up at his commander with a grin, still happy with his successes today.

Reyes huffs and sits back on Jesse’s thigh causing the younger to wince at the concentration of weight just above his knee.

There’s something oddly… Pleasant, about fighting like this.

In Deadlock, weaponless scraps were born of bloodthirst or fighting to survive.

Whenever he fights with Reyes he still has that airiness in his chest, knowing that they aren’t trying to kill each other.

Jesse rubs his thumb over his other fingers’ knuckles and settles into the mat, the older man’s hands having moved down to his wrists.

“You know the name of the new med?”

"Mm, nah, can't remember all of 'em," Jesse arches his back to crack it and sniffs, his nose itching, "Some kinda stimulant?"

"You should keep a list, in case of emergencies," Reyes frowns down at younger.

"Where am I gonna have an emergency where there isn't access to my files?" Jesse asks dryly, "Think Doc said somethin' 'bout regeneration. ‘Pposed to help me heal quicker so I can focus on gettin' stronger."

Reyes’s brows furrow and Jesse thinks you could call the expression ‘worried’ but it’s gone so quickly, he’s not completely sure it was ever there.

The Commander releases his wrists and fluidly pulls back to stand before offering a hand down to Jesse.

Jesse takes it readily and lets Reyes do most of the work getting him off the ground.

"Well, suppose we can say I won," Jesse says cheekily.

"As I recall, only moments ago, it was you pinned down," Reyes deadpans.

"Two outta three, Big Man," Jesse says with a wicked grin.

"You can call me by my name, you know that, right?" Reyes asks in exasperation.

Jesse's gaze flicks over the older man's face slowly.

Reyes feels like he's turned into cellophane and Jesse can see right through him.

"Nah, think I'll save that."

\--

Doctor Ziegler doesn't answer his calls and Reyes can't really blame her for taking her time off seriously.

\--

Reyes had taken to calling him to his office in the evening, going over things and trying to subtly ask if Jesse had eaten.

Eventually, Jesse caught on and huffed.

"Why don't you just have me eat here so you can be sure?" He'd asked, one hundred percent joking but Reyes took it to heart.

It was… Curious.

Their relationship.

Reyes at first seemed to outright hate him, and now willingly brought two shares of whatever food he'd cooked for himself.

"You celebrate Christmas?" His commander asks as they're sitting in the older man's office to eat dinner.

"Did when I was little, haven't since," Jesse says with a cheek full of some kind of half-chewed, marinated steak.

Reyes levels him with a look of contempt for his lacking manners.

"Do you?" Jesse asks after swallowing.

"Christmas was huge, in my family," Reyes says as he sorts through some documents on his tablet with one hand, the other hand making little gestures of emphasis with a fork as the older man talked, "Luminarias, tallest tree we could fit, the whole hog."

"... You mean that literally?" Jesse asks slowly.

"Scared of a little head cheese, Jesse?" Reyes leers before taking a bite.

"We had farolitos too," Jesse says, softer, "I always managed to burn myself."

"You remember the last thing you got?"

Jesse frowns, scrunching up his nose in thought before he slowly shakes his head.

"The last thing I got, before I joined the military, was this," Reyes says and lifts the chain out from under his collar, revealing a small, golden cross pendant.

"You a man o' faith, Sir?" Jesse asks with a raised brow.

"Was raised to be."

Jesse hums his understanding and digs his fork into the corn cake in the corner of the container.

"Why'd you ask, anyhow?" Jesse squints at the older man in suspicion.

"Jack celebrates, usually drags me into it," Reyes mulls over his words, pushing his food around with his fork, "You interested in joining?"

"... What are y'all doin’?"

"Cooking too much food, exchanging stupid gifts, watching classics."

“Hm.”

Reyes watches Jesse reach forward and grab the wrong coffee before making a face after taking a sip.

“Eugh,” Jesse sticks out his tongue briefly before putting the mug back on the table, “Man, oughta only make that mistake once.”

“Not fond of cinnamon?” Reyes asks, amused, pulling his cup away from the edge and shoving some papers away to set it closer to himself.

“I mean,” Jesse licks his lips and shrugs, “It ain’t _bad,_ really, just a punch in the face when you ain’t expectin’ it.”

Reyes rolls his eyes and goes back to scrolling through debrief records.

"I… I can't really get anyone gifts, given that I don't have any money," Jesse frowns, "Can't leave neither."

"I doubt Jack expects anything from you," Reyes says.

"Do you?" Jesse asks, echoing his earlier question.

Reyes sits back in his chair and studies Jesse seriously.

“Well…” The Commander starts.

Jesse blinks in surprise and Reyes snorts quietly.

“You’ll be starting simulations soon,” Reyes says, “As soon as you get gun clearance.”

“... And?”

“You finish all the solo simulations before May, four stars or higher, and you can consider that a gift to me,” Reyes explains slowly, studying Jesse closely the whole time.

Jesse’s nose scrunches up in confusion.

“Okay?” Jesse mutters, “Doesn’t sound that hard…”

He feels a twinge of worry when his commander smiles.

\--

“Come on, Jesse,” Reyes says as he prods at the lump on Jesse’s bed.

“S’what?” He hears, muffled from below the blankets, before the lump moves and Jesse’s face appears, squinting up at him, hair an absolute mess, “Time?”

“To get up,” Reyes says and fights the covers away from Jesse, half-dragging the kid down the mattress.

“S’not even dawn,” Jesse grumbles and sits up, righting his shirt and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Get dressed,” Reyes says, highly amused, before ducking out of the room into the hallway.

Jesse’s tempted to re-cocoon himself against the chilled air, but fights the urge and crawls up his bed to peek behind the shades covering his window.

It’s dark outside, but he can see snow moving in flurries through the air before settling, coating every surface.

“White Christmas,” Jesse mutters and lets the shades fall back into place.

He stumbles off the bed and goes to dig through his dresser.

He rubs at his ribs below his chest and glances over at the door with his mouth quirked to the side before huffing quietly.

He sets his binder on top of the dresser and digs out a compression tank instead.

Exchanges the t-shirt for the tank and shuffles into some boxers and sweatpants before grabbing the big overwatch hoodie Reyes had loaned him and pulling it on.

He pulls the sleeve cuffs down over his hands and opens the door, leaning out to squint at Reyes.

“Do I need shoes?”

Reyes huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head.

Jesse moves all the way out into the hall and puts the hood up over his messy hair, following his commander as Reyes starts to lead them through the hallways.

“Why are we up so damn early?” Jesse mutters.

“Lots of cooking to do,” Reyes answers happily, clearly _sadistically_ enjoying Jesse’s misery.

Jesse grumbles and crosses his arms to keep his fingertips warmly tucked next to his sides.

Falling in step, next to his commander.

\--

Commander Morrison is wearing… An apron.

Jesse stares, too tired to try not to.

It’s a utilitarian thing, just navy canvas and steel hardware.

There’s already flour smeared over one side of it.

Morrison opens the door further for them to come in.

“Good Morning,” Morrison says to Jesse.

Reyes kicks off his shoes then disappears down the hallway, obviously familiar with the space.

“Did you remember marshmallows this year?” Reyes calls from further in.

“Implying I _forgot_ them last year?” Morrison calls back wryly.

Jesse awkwardly shuffles out of the way to let Morrison close the door, hearing Reyes’ huffing and annoyed muttering from what he’s now assuming is the kitchen.

“You can put your shoes under the…” Morrison trails off as he looks down to see Jesse’s socked feet, snorting softly in amusement, “Or not.”

“... Merry Christmas,” Jesse says quietly, because he really can’t think of anything else to say.

Morrison looks just as amused as Reyes had been upon waking him up and Jesse feels extraordinarily like he’s missing out on a joke at his own expense.

“Merry Christmas, McCree,” Morrison says happily and makes a ‘follow me’ gesture before turning and going the way Reyes went.

Jesse shakes his head briskly to try and wake up, of all his time at Overwatch…

This moment, specifically, feels like a fever dream.

“You know how to cook at all?” Morrison asks as they turn and go through an archway leading to a relatively large kitchen.

“Uh…” Jesse trails off, looking around the kitchen.

“... Gonna take that as a no,” Morrison says lightly glancing down at the hoodie before looking over at Reyes with a quirked brow.

Jesse curls his socked toes against the chilled tile floor, tense with where Morrison is looking before he realizes it’s at the hoodie, not his chest.

Reyes glances up from sorting through canvas grocery-bags and sees the look being leveled at him, scoffing dismissively.

Jesse glances between the two older men from under furrowed brows, feeling like he’s missed something.

“Come help me sort this shit,” Reyes says to Jesse, jerking his head at the rows of bags on the counters.

Jesse readily moves close to his commander and peers into the bags.

"Sort them how?" Jesse murmurs.

"Let's just get everything out first," Reyes says to him before tilting his head back to aim his next words at Morrison, "Bread Boy, you need any of this?"

"No," Morrison bites out before muttering in disbelief, _"Bread Boy."_

Jesse presses his lips together to choke back the laugh trying to slip free, glancing up at Reyes who catches him and smirks, pushing some of the bags closer to Jesse.

\--

“Aw!” Reyes exclaims soon after moving to unpack the last bag, startling Jesse out of carefully stacking carrots.

He sees Morisson turn to look at Reyes also, out of the corner of his hood-limited vision.

Reyes turns around with a smug grin on his face, holding up a bag of Brand Name marshmallows that Jesse is pretty sure _are not_ allowed by Overwatch’s strict food rules.

“You really _do_ care, Jackie,” Reyes coos dramatically at Morrison and Jesse chokes in disbelief.

The Commanders both look at him like they forgot he was there.

Which, to be fair, he hasn’t said anything since Reyes assigned him half the bags.

“Do… Do y’all act like this ‘round any of the other recruits,” Jesse asks slowly, voice still a little sleep-scratchy, “Or is this _intense_ blackmail material?”

“Ah… Well,” Morrison starts nervously, bringing a flour-coated hand up, almost rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before catching a glimpse of the state of his fingers and cringing away from his own hand.

Simultaneously Reyes uses the bag of marshmallows to gesture threateningly at Jesse.

“Who would believe you?” Reyes asks darkly, the expression on his face indescribable as anything but _wicked,_ teeth bared, eyes narrowed, a gleam in his dark eyes.

“Gabriel,” Morrison says, tone reprimanding, emphatically pointing at Jesse with a flour-coated finger, _“Guest.”_

Reyes cocks his head like he’s been issued a challenge, glancing between Jesse and Morrison slowly before his tongue comes out to swipe along the biting edge of his upper teeth and it transitions the expression into something less dangerous and more playful.

Reyes smirks at Jesse then refocuses on the marshmallows, poising his arms to rip the bag open, only to have it snatched away in a puff of flour-dust.

Jesse sucks on his cheek and leans against the counter as he watches Reyes’ expression fall deadly again, this time aimed at Morrison.

“Precisely why I _did not_ buy them last year was that the year before you ate all of them before we even started on the casserole,” Morrison says diplomatically and Jesse intensely understands how Morrison was made the poster-boy of Overwatch.

Reyes just rolls his eyes and turns back to the bags as Morrison tosses the marshmallows on top of the fridge.

“So, sweet tooth, huh?” Jesse asks, and Reyes turns to answer him but sees that the question was aimed at Morrison, Jesse watching the other commander with guarded curiosity.

Reyes slowly closes his mouth and watches Jesse.

They’ve grown fairly close in the short amount of time they’ve known each other, he’s become accustomed to Jesse’s more open personality, the eager banter and genuine kindness uncovered after dusting off the years and years of the kid living with his guard up twenty-four-seven.

He’s almost _pleased_ to see that Jesse has some hesitance around Morrison.

Jesse knows _of_ Overwatch’s Commander, but doesn’t really _know_ him.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Morrison scoffs, having turned back to his dough-folding, “Gabriel has always had a sweet tooth, S-E-P made it so much worse.”

“Hey,” Reyes protests half-heartedly, still observing.

Jesse’s studying the back of Morrison, from the still shower-damp strands of blonde hair to the man’s red, knit socks.

Reyes watches Jesse from the corner of his eye as he pulls out the sweet potatoes.

The younger is glancing between Morrison and what decorations he can see in the kitchen.

He sees Jesse take in the little details, the dry-erase markers in a cup that’s magnetically stuck to the side of the white fridge.

The two mugs, one on either side of the coffee-maker.

But Reyes sees the exact moment Jesse _knows._

When the younger’s eyes land on the shaker labeled ‘cinnamon’ next to the mugs.

Jesse’s gaze flicks to the side of his commander’s face before he returns to his task of unpacking.

“Listen, you haven’t tasted a _granule_ of sugar since you got here, unless you were hiding something other than smokes,” Reyes says bitterly.

Jesse tenses, looking over at him incredulously, before glancing back at Morrison, who has his head cocked but otherwise hasn’t reacted.

“Oh, Kid,” Reyes laughs quietly, “Jackie isn’t gonna rat you out, boy’s got vices of his own.”

“Like what?” Jesse asks disbelievingly.

Morrison turns around with two loaves of bread on a wooden peel, smiling at Jesse conspiratorially and leaning in as he walks past with the bread.

“Maybe if you’re good, you can find out,” Morrison says before moving to the oven and sliding the loaves onto a stone disc within it.

Jesse does a double take at the back of Morrison’s head before looking at his commander for help.

Reyes presses his lips together and shrugs.

Then Morrison draws him into an argument about the location of specific casserole dishes and Jesse’s _sure,_ this time, that he’s dreaming.

\--

He was not and is not dreaming and both commanders were wrong about the location of the specific dishes.

Jesse, actually, was the one to point out they were on the counter already, just under the pile of empty canvas bags.

Reyes squeezes his upper arm in thanks and Jesse ducks his head with a murmured ‘no problem’.

Reyes puts him on vegetable peeling duty.

Clears a space on one side of the sink for Jesse to hop up onto the counter, a compost basket on the floor between his dangling legs for peels, while the de-skinned veggies go straight into the big, water-filled sink.

When Jesse initially protests sitting on their counter Reyes assures him it’s fine, and that it’s easier if there aren’t a collective six feet moving around the kitchen.

Jesse focuses on not slicing off any of his own skin, idly listening to the Commanders bicker over just about everything.

He sees Reyes glancing up at the top of the fridge occasionally and crosses one leg over the other as he works on a sweet potato.

“Dunno if I’ve ever had a marshmallow,” Jesse says sincerely.

He’s leveled with equal looks of betrayal and gratitude from Morrison and Reyes, respectively.

" _Never had a marshmallow,_ Jack," Reyes says seriously, "This needs to be rectified, immediately."

Morrison's expression is flat, studying Jesse for a solid ten seconds before sighing.

"Alright, but _one,_ for _Jesse,"_ Morrison says firmly, reaching up for the bag and tearing it open to hold out to Jesse who dutifully only takes one of the big, white, spongy confections.

Morrison turns around to close and restore the bag out of reach.

Jesse bites off about a third of it before quickly reaching the rest over to his commander.

He's fully expecting Reyes to lift a hand from his work, chopping some of the vegetables, and take the rest of the marshmallow.

Instead, Reyes leans over and carefully but quickly takes the marshmallow from Jesse's hand with his teeth.

Reyes makes a face of pure pleasure before mouthing a 'thank you' and going back to his cutting, but Jesse's brain is still frying its circuits.

He has the sense to bring his hands into the sink quickly before Morrison turns back around, washing off the powdery residue.

"Very sweet," Jesse mentions, chewing slowly.

"Horribly," Morrison agrees.

"You two don’t appreciate life’s small pleasures,” Reyes grumbles.

Jesse looks over at Morrison who’s watching the back of Reyes’ head with such deep fondness that Jesse feels a pang of sympathy.

\--

When all the vegetables are peeled, Jesse slides slowly down off the counter.

“Do y’all share a bathroom?” Jesse asks.

Morrison glances back at him in surprise, the same moment Reyes lets out a sharp laugh.

“Jesus, no,” Reyes says and looks over at Jesse, “You need one? Mine’s around the corner to the right, the only open door.”

Jesse nods his thanks and shuffles out of the kitchen.

The color scheme of the rooms is largely gray, hints of navy and burgundy scattered throughout.

Reyes’ bathroom isn’t unclean but it is cluttered.

Jesse spends a minute looking over all the things on the counter in amusement, a mix of medical and cosmetic.

\--

He sees himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands and slips off the hood to try and tame his hair into something other than a rat’s nest.

He goes ahead and washes his face, too.

There’s an _immense_ temptation to smell the bottle of cologne he spots, because he’s fairly certain he’s not smelled any cologne on his commander before, despite all the times they’ve been in each other’s pockets in the training room.

He doesn’t.

\--

They have a four-by-four foot square table _covered_ with food by dinnertime.

“Are there other people comin’?” Jesse asks as he steps back to take in the sheer amount of foot in such a small space.

“Serum, Kid,” Reyes says, “Me and Jack can put away a _lot.”_

Jesse gives a small smile but, in all honesty, he’s overwhelmed.

They’d taken a small break earlier to eat a light lunch of bread, cheese, and fruit…

But, there’s still something so _weird_ about eating ‘regular’ meals, or even special feasts like this.

Reyes nudges him lightly.

“You okay?” His commander murmurs.

Jesse presses his lips together then slowly nods.

Reyes slings an arm over his shoulders and squeezes his upper arm lightly.

“Merry Christmas, Jesse.”

Jesse blinks wide eyes at the use of his first name and Reyes looks confused at the reaction and then a little surprised at himself.

\--

When Morrison returns with plates and utensils they each fill up a plate, Reyes getting a _generous_ serving of the marshmallow-topped sweet potato casserole.

The Commanders both take seats on the couch in the living area and Jesse nervously perches on the edge of the L-shaped sectional, gripping his plate tightly.

He takes small bites of things he hasn’t eaten in years between watching Reyes and Morrison eat and talk quietly.

“How long have y’all known each other?” Jesse asks.

“We went through the S-E-P together, so… A while,” Reyes says casually before glancing down to the food Jesse is picking at, compared to their mostly empty plates.

“You good?” Reyes asks with a slight frown.

Jesse nods hurriedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

Morrison scoops the last bite of mashed potatoes off his plate before slinking back into the dining room saying something about getting seconds.

Reyes scoots a little closer to speak quietly with Jesse.

“What’s wrong?” His commander asks, voice softer than Jesse has heard since meeting the man.

“It’s not… Bad, or anythin’, just _heavy,”_ Jesse says hesitantly, “If that makes sense.”

“No, it does,” Reyes reassures him, “You aren’t obligated to finish anything, just pick out what you think you can stomach.”

Jesse swallows thickly and ducks his head.

There’s a weird shame in his gut, that he can’t fully appreciate all the work they put in today.

That he’s been invited into this intimate celebration only to squander the opportunity of comfort food that otherwise doesn’t exist within Overwatch’s dietary plans.

“Hey, Kid,” Reyes reaches a hand over and squeezes the back of Jesse’s neck, fingertips shoving through the shaggy hair, “Seriously, it’s alright.”

Jesse presses his lips together and leans back into the touch slightly, slowly returning to picking at his food.

\--

Reyes studies the younger silently, absently rubbing his thumb over the crook between Jesse’s neck and shoulder.

He knows that Jesse’s… Not _broken,_ but definitely a bit fucked in the head.

There’s a resident psych for Blackwatch, specializing in PTSD, but he’s not sure if Jesse would go willingly.

Morrison comes back into the living area, plate piled with food again.

He gives Reyes a questioning look, out of Jesse’s view and Reyes gives a half-hearted shrug before shaking his head lightly, telling Morrison wordlessly to drop it.

\--

They finish the rest of their food uneventfully.

Jesse doesn’t complain when he’s roped into helping with leftovers but Reyes can tell the kid’s tired.

He nudges Jesse softly when they’re almost done and nods towards the living room.

“Go get comfortable on the couch, I gotta go and find your present.”

Jesse’s brows furrow intensely in confusion.

“You got me somethin’?”

“Mm-hm,” Reyes hums then nudges Jesse again, “Go.”

Jesse’ nose twitches and Reyes can tell the younger is swallowing his protests in the face of a direct order.

Reyes didn’t really _mean_ for it to be a command but Jesse obeys so readily it fills Reyes with a mix of concern and pride.

\--

Jesse tentatively curls up in the corner of the couch, next to the spot where Reyes was sitting earlier, he and Morrison have obvious places they usually sit, the leather a little cracked, a little faded.

It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, vaguely paying attention to the decades-old Christmas movie playing across the room.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep but he wakes up to the smell of rich tobacco.

Jesse rubs his eyes and squints in the dim light, seeing a faint golden glow from around the corner.

He shuffles over to the edge of the living room and sees the cracked sliding door to a balcony.

He slips through the opening and Morrison notices him immediately, thick cigar balanced over his knuckles.

“You’re smokin’?” Jesse asks incredulously.

Reyes tilts his head back to look at Jesse, a cigar of his own between his teeth as he shuffles a deck of cards.

“Jesse,” Reyes says around the cigar, “Come here.”

Jesse shuffles onto the cold concrete of the balcony slowly until he’s standing in front of the card table, between the seated commanders.

“What’re you playin’?” Jesse asks quietly, rubbing his eyes a little more.

“Rummy,” Morrison says, “Plain.”

His voice is a little scratchier than Jesse has heard it before.

Jesse looks out over the balcony and sees the inky black water, spanning the entire horizon.

“Is that the ocean?”

Reyes shakes his head with a laugh, handing the deck to Morrison and holding his cigar out to Jesse.

“It’s a moat, technically,” Reyes says vaguely.

Jesse slowly takes the offered cigar and looks to his commander to confirm permission.

Reyes nods simply and maneuvers a chair from his other side in offering to Jesse.

Who sits, and smokes, his lungs filling with burning warmth for the first time in weeks.

Morrison has dealt for each of them.

Reyes takes back the cigar and presses Jesse’s cards into the younger’s hand.

Jesse brings his legs up into the chair, pulling his hood back up and sorting his cards, he hugs himself with one arm for warmth, and watches Reyes start the discard pile.

“Aces, high or low?” Jesse asks.

\--

Jesse sets his remaining card in the discard pile and sits back to look at the Commanders.

“Rummy,” Jesse says softly.

Reyes barks a laugh and Morrison snorts quietly.

“... Sir?” Jesse aims at his commander.

“Hm?” Reyes asks as he leans over to collect the cards.

“Ain’t my intent to be rude, but I can I go back to my room?” Jesse asks slowly.

Reyes glances at him and sees the tense lines of Jesse bracing himself, in expectancy of anger, maybe disappointment.

“Tired?” Morrison asks, somewhat amused.

“Yessir,” Jesse answers quickly.

“Let’s go,” Reyes says gently, standing up slowly, “Doubt anyone will catch you, but it’s well past curfew.”

“Thank you for your help today, McCree,” Morrison says kindly.

Jesse unfolds himself and stands, crossing his arms awkwardly.

“Thank you for… Lettin' me join y’all.”

“Come on,” Reyes says and guides Jesse back into the building with a hand on top of Jesse’s hooded head.

\--

When they get back to the door to Jesse’s room the younger pauses before opening the door.

“It’s past midnight, but I didn’t say it earlier,” Jesse tilts his head back to look at Reyes without the hood hanging in his vision, “Merry Christmas.”

Reyes tilts his head and reaches up to squeeze Jesse’s shoulder.

“Goodnight, Jesse,” Reyes says softly and his hand starts to retreat, the older man turning away, presumably to return to Morrison and their rooms.

Jesse grabs his commander’s wrist, acting on pure instinct.

Reyes pauses, looking at Jesse, a mix of confusion and worry in his expression.

“I… Uh-,” Jesse takes a deep breath in and straightens up, letting his shoulders set and his neck stretch, aiming to look delicate and inviting.

It’s been on his mind, all day, an itch at the back of his consciousness.

Jesse runs the tip of his tongue along the small gap between his front teeth.

“I meant what I said, that day,” Jesse says slowly and Reyes turns back to face him fully.

“What part?” Reyes asks quietly, almost a whisper, hesitant and hollow syllables.

“All of it,” Jesse edges, “Anything you want.”

Reyes brows furrow and the creases on his face deepen, showing his every year alive, and every year under stress.

“Why?” Reyes asks.

And it’s Jesse’s turn for his expression to pinch in confusion, lacking the lines, lacking the scars and faint marks that come with age and exposure.

“Maybe in the future I can earn my keep as an agent, or whatever, but until then…” Jesse takes a breath in and smooths his expression, using his grip on Reyes’ wrist to pull the older man closer.

Jesse backs into the door and reaches back with his other hand to open it.

Reyes throws his other arm up and covers Jesse’s grip on the handle.

There are only a handful of inches between them.

Jesse meets his commander’s gaze.

“Why do you think you’re not already earning your keep?” Reyes asks quietly, voice low and dangerous.

“I’ll never not be in debt to you and Commander Morrison,” Jesse says slowly, “I haven’t been able to repay you at all.”

Jesse shifts slightly and glances to the side, the faint sound of footsteps around the corner.

Reyes hears it as well, grimacing before turning the handle with both of their hands and moving them swiftly into the room, nudging Jesse further in so he can close the door near-silently behind them.

“Is this why Jack has a soft spot for you?” Reyes asks, face twisted up in distaste, “Did he take you up on this… Offer?”

Jesse shakes his head quickly.

“No,” Jesse says quietly, “I’ve hardly spoken to him since I was brought here, and he isn’t…”

Jesse trails off, pressing his lips together before sighing and sitting on the edge of his bed.

“He ain’t the type,” Jesse says, looking down at the Overwatch logo on his… Reyes’ hoodie.

“The type for what?” Reyes asks tiredly, leaning back against the door, a mirrored image of his first extended visit to Jesse’s room.

The first time Jesse was fed by his commander.

The first glimpse into Jesse’s life with Deadlock.

“I can guess,” Jesse says slowly, “That you were ordered to train me, to turn me into an asset for Overwatch.”

Reyes nods.

“You weren’t ordered to share your food with me, to invite me into your office, to invite me into your _rooms,”_ Jesse says stiffly, “You weren’t ordered to be _gentle.”_

Reyes takes a deep breath and looks down at Jesse’s dresser.

The binder, the alarm clock, the empty carton of cigarettes.

“What type does that make me?” Reyes asks roughly, looking back to Jesse.

Jesse sucks on the insides of his cheeks, casting his gaze to the side, trying to find the right word, curling his toes against the ground.

“Receptive,” Jesse says tentatively.

Reyes sniffs but otherwise doesn’t respond, studying the younger.

“You seemed to like the idea,” Jesse mutters, scooting back on the bed.

“What idea?”

“Me being your bitch.”

Reyes huffs quietly, letting his head fall back against the door.

“Why do you think you aren’t already?” Reyes asks, voice low.

Jesse looks at his commander questioningly.

Reyes lifts his head back up and levels Jesse with a dark look.

“You have to do everything I say, McCree, doesn’t that make you my bitch?”

“Bullshit,” Jesse huffs, “You ain’t treatin’ me like a pet, you’re treatin’ me like a _pet project._ You’re that type too. The kind of man who wants someone to spoil.”

Reyes quirks a brow at him.

“You think I’m spoiling you?” His commander asks.

“Sorry,” Jesse says dryly, “Didn’t realize you do this for other agents, personally cook for them, learn what foods they don’t like just from observation, have coffee ready and waitin’ for them just how they take it.”

Reyes scowls down at him, rubbing at his jaw lightly.

“Funny, didn’t see anyone else in your rooms neither, for Christmas,” Jesse shakes his head, “Have any of your agents even _seen_ the inside of your rooms? I know what cologne you wear. I know you have a sweet tooth. I know you take cinnamon in your coffee. I know you smoke. I know you _live with Morrison.”_

Jesse twists the comforter under him into his fist, meeting his commander’s eyes firmly.

“Why am I special?” Jesse asks quietly.

Reyes’ scowl has softened, the older man still rubbing at his jaw, gaze scanning slowly over Jesse’s face.

“I don’t know,” Reyes says after a minute of silence.

“Bullshit,” Jesse mutters, “You like me. You _care_ about me. Why?”

Reyes shakes his head, taking a deep breath in before stepping forward, away from the door.

He sees Jesse’s eyes flick over him, a bit uncertain, always cautious.

He opens the door behind him and steps out, looking back at Jesse.

“Come to my office, for lunch,” Reyes orders.

Jesse’s room goes dark as the older man hits the lights and closes the door.

Jesse shoves the hood off of his head and yanks the hoodie off, tossing it to the foot of his bed.

He strips down to his boxers and flops back on the bed, glancing in the direction of where he threw the hoodie, rolling onto his side to grapple at the mattress until the worn-soft fabric is in his hand.

He pulls it back on and cocoons himself with the comforter, burying his face in his arms.

He realizes there’s a scent embedded in the fabric, under the smell of detergent.

He has a feeling that it's the same smell as the bottle of cologne he saw in Reyes’ bathroom.

Jesse grumbles and presses the fabric against his nose, breathing in deeply.

He hates to admit it calms him.

But Reyes has become such a _good_ thing in his life, he’s never had someone who showed so much… _Tenderness._

Jesse curls up tighter and falls asleep with the fabric against his face and the smell of Reyes’ cologne permeating his brain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some sketchy stuff going on with Jesse's treatment huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hole and clit are used for jesse in this brief masturbation scene   
> also does anyone know of a trans-safe mcreyes server? lmao

Jesse sleeps… Really well.

He wakes up as the light of late-morning starts seeping into his room through the window shades.

He reaches over to pull the shades half-up then lays back and snuggles into Reyes’ hoodie, bringing the collar up to cover the lower half of his face.

Recalling their conversation last night…

Reyes’ lack of denial when Jesse accused him of liking the idea of having Jesse be his bitch.

Jesse sucks on his teeth and lets his gaze trail around the tops of the walls slowly.

He doesn’t see any cameras.

He looks over at his alarm clock, realizing he only has a half-hour until he’s supposed to meet his commander.

He reaches over and squints at the numbers, pretending to fiddle with the settings before shoving away the alarm clock, turning the face of it away at the same time.

Just in case.

He swallows thickly as he settles back in the middle of the bed.

There are no windows facing his, just the backs and tops of other buildings, but no one should be able to see into his room, being on an upper floor.

He presses his lips together and uses one hand to bring the collar back up, his other moving down to shuck up the hem of the hoodie.

He pushes up the sleeve on his left arm and settles his hand against his stomach to warm them up.

Nerves have him re-checking the corners of the ceiling for cameras.

Re-checking.

Re-checking.

He slips just the tips of his fingers under the waistband of his boxers at first, slowly rubbing his lower stomach.

The little bit of flesh that’s softened since he was brought in.

He thinks of the first time he pressed against Reyes to distract him, the first time he felt that bulge against him.

The first time he saw heat in Reyes' eyes when Jesse was on his knees for his commander.

Last night, when for a split second Jesse thought his commander was going to give in, take the offer.

He moves his fingers a little further down, pushing through the patch of curly brown hair.

His teeth dig into his lower lip and he presses his head back into his pillow, closing his eyes.

Combining the memories of straddling Reyes' stomach and the memory of the press of Reyes' cock against him.

Thinking what it would be like to pin Reyes to mat then scoot back and have his commander's length pressed between his thighs.

Jesse squirms when he runs one finger along his slit and hisses quietly at the slick he feels, bringing it up to lightly circle his clit.

He doesn't know if there are audio bugs in the room even if there don’t seem to be any cameras.

So he breathes shakily against the inside of the hoodie and rocks his hips up against his hand.

Fingers moving down and dipping into his hole, his legs opening a little more, imagining Reyes between them, like the couple times they've fallen together while sparring.

Jesse's never had a cock inside him, just his fingers but he thinks of the stretch he feels when four are inside of him to the knuckles and knows that Reyes would _have_ to feel bigger.

A small sound slips out of him and he bites down on his tongue.

His fingers are slippery, moving wetly over his clit, socked toes curled under the comforter.

He flattens his palm over his mouth, muffling himself with the fabric.

He wants to be the first to beg, over and over, beg for his commander to let him come.

"Gabe," He whimpers, only discernible to himself because in his mind he's sobbing it as a desperate psalm.

He thinks of the cross that Gabe wears and imagines wearing something like that.

Not for God or Christ but with his commander in mind, a blasphemous idol.

"Shit," Jesse whispers and his legs start to close as he presses against his clit, teeth clenched against a cry of his commander's unused nickname as he comes.

He rides it out by lightly stroking over the bundle of nerves, the muscles in his thighs tensing.

He slumps into the mattress, breathing unevenly as he opens his eyes, letting go of the hoodie to wipe away the tears that had formed.

He remembers where he is, glances over to the alarm clock, turning it back towards himself after pulling his sticky fingers out of his underwear.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ Jesse gasps and scrambles off the bed, slipping off his boxers and wiping himself as clean as he can.

He pulls on another pair of boxers, followed by sweatpants almost identical to the ones from last night.

Black, like all the other clothes he's been given, sans Gabe's hoodie.

He hurries to shove his feet into the military boots, sloppily tying up the laces.

Jesus, fuck, he wanted to _shower_ before meeting his commander.

He still feels slick, still feels a little shaky as he wipes off his hands roughly on the soaked boxers.

He hurries across the building to his commander's office.

Crossing his arms over his chest at the realization that he has nothing beneath the hoodie.

He curses under his breath and tries not to look like he's on the verge of running, stumbling when he stops, almost walking right past Gabe's door.

Jesse swallows, knocks with one hand, trying to fix his hair with the other.

The door opens and Jesse hurriedly crosses his arms again as Gabe gestures him inside.

There's food on the desk for the two of them.

Jesse feels sick, seeing that his container only contains the foods he ate last night, none of the things he avoided or tried, only to not finish.

There's a guilt creeping through his veins and he shuffles forward to take a seat in the chair he's all but claimed as his own.

Gabe moves around to sit behind his desk and actually looks at Jesse, a frown forming on his face.

"Are you alright?" His commander asks.

"Sorry, I uh…" Jesse clears his throat and digs his fingers into the sides of his ribcage, crossing his arms tighter, "Overslept."

Jesse frowns down at his loose laces.

"I didn't have time to…" Jesse nods down at himself, "Put on anythin’ under this."

"Kid," Gabe starts, voice soft, "It would have been alright if you were a little late. You can go back and get dressed."

Jesse presses his lips together.

"I'm fine… I just," Jesse takes a deep breath and draws his legs up onto the chair, "I'm fine."

"... Are you?" Gabe asks slowly.

"Are you gonna ask for this back?" Jesse asks instead of answering, tugging at the upper part of the sleeve.

"The hoodie?" Gabe's brows furrow at the change of topic, "No… You can keep it."

Jesse mutters his thanks and brings his knees up to his chest, moving his arms to wrap in front of his shins.

"Jesse…" Gabe hesitates before sitting up a little straighter, leaning in towards the younger, "Tell me what's wrong."

Jesse scrunches up his nose.

"Jesse," Gabe says, sterner.

"This feels like a fuckin' dream," Jesse says roughly, "Like someone in Deadlock got sick of my shit and knocked me into a coma and this is what my conscience decided to make up."

Gabe rubs at his jaw slowly.

"Why would you dream of this?"

Jesse shifts and rests his chin on one of his knees.

"I'm safe," Jesse whispers, "I'm valued, in some way, I have potential, right?"

Jesse looks up at his commander for an answer.

Gabe nods once, a slow dip of his chin.

"Deadlock was always… Always _scum,"_ Jesse says, "That's what everyone told me, growin' up. 'Stay away from those lowlifes' and 'Don't go near their hideouts'."

"Then why'd you join?"

"My parents died," Jesse murmurs, "No one cared, I was desperate."

Gabe stands and pulls a bag up out of hiding from behind his desk.

Just simple brown paper, folded at the top.

He holds it out to Jesse who slowly unfolds himself to take it.

"That's from me," Gabe says then pulls a box from one of the drawers in his desk, handing it over also, "And that's from Jack."

Jesse sets the box on the chair next to him and opens the bag.

It's heavy, in his lap, and when he peers inside he understands why.

"My boots?" Jesse asks hoarsely.

"This isn't a dream, Kid, I promise."

Jesse pulls his boots out of the bag.

They've been cleaned, which he's glad for, considering the last time he saw them they were caked in desert mud and the blood of his gang.

"That's exactly what someone in a dream would say," Jesse mutters, pulling the boots close, rubbing his thumb over the frayed stitching holding the bootstraps on.

Gabe snorts, leans back to sit on the edge of his desk, looking down at Jesse.

"I won't be able to train with you today, but Jack's gift should help, since you'll be in your room."

Jesse reluctantly sets the boots down next to him and picks the box back up.

It's a tablet.

"Everything you do on there is monitored, you can't connect to any social media, but there's a library of movies and shows," Gabe explains, "Some games, I think."

"Thank you," Jesse says quietly.

"Yeah, well, thank Jack next time you see him," Gabe says gruffly, moves back to sit in his chair.

"You're the one who remembered, though," Jesse insists, gripping the tablet tightly and looking up to meet his commander's eyes, "And you got me my _boots."_

"You can't wear them while training," Gabe says firmly.

"I thought they were trashed with my clothes," Jesse mutters, "I'm just glad to see them."

Gabe sniffs and shoves Jesse's lunch closer to the edge.

"Eat."

"Yessir," Jesse says quietly, sets the tablet down to grab the container.

"I'll be gone for a couple of days, so if you need anything ask Jack," Gabe says as he starts on his own lunch.

"Is it classified where you're goin'?" Jesse asks sarcastically.

"Yes, actually."

Jesse makes a sheepish face with his mouth full, causing his commander to give a small huff of laughter.

\--

After stopping by the bathroom to shower, Jesse curls back up in bed with his new tablet, setting both pairs of boots neatly by the door.

He makes a pile with his comforter and pillows and lounges back on it, wrapping the tail-ends of the comforter over himself.

He spends maybe twenty minutes just scrolling through the huge library of shows and movies before feeling overwhelmed, setting the tablet on his dresser.

He scrubs his eyes and shoves his damp hair back from his face, looking out the window, watching the snow fall.

\--

Jesse doesn’t remember falling asleep but it’s dark when he wakes up.

He sniffs, untangles himself from the comforter before sitting up.

He has the sudden realization that his reliance on Gabe for meals has been stripped away.

Jesse grimaces and rubs his stomach.

His alarm clock reads three in the morning and he should probably be more concerned that he slept so long after only being awake for a couple of hours.

He grabs the tablet and flicks around the apps, hovering over the contacts icon.

Gabe is in there.

Morrison is, too.

There’s a messaging app and Jesse flicks around the features, noticing that his contacts are already implemented.

He hovers over Gabe, glances at the clock, then sighs, dropping his hand, staring blankly at the screen.

A little green dot appears at the corner of Morrison’s name, indicating the Commander is online.

Jesse blinks in surprise, sits up a little straighter.

Maybe Morrison just woke up to check something and he’d go back offline in a minute.

Jesse watches the little green light intently for a few minutes.

His tablet dinging startles him into dropping it.

There’s a little ‘1’ next to Morrison’s name.

Jesse taps it.

_Jack Morrison: Why are you awake?_

Jesse reads the message over a dozen times before bringing up the keyboard.

_Jesse McCree: I could ask you the same_

_Jesse McCree: Sir_

Jesse leans back into the piled comforter and pillows, propping the tablet on his thighs.

_Jack Morrison: I have a meeting in a few minutes, the plight of cross-timezone communication._

Jesse snorts and rubs at his eyes before replying.

_Jesse McCree: The plight of being at the top more like_

_Jack Morrison: I’m not at the top._

_Jack Morrison: Don’t make that mistake._

Jesse’s brows shoot up in surprise as he re-reads those messages.

_Jack Morrison: Go back to sleep._

_Jesse McCree: I’ve slept enough today thanks_

Jesse waits, biting his lip, wondering if that was an overstep.

_Jack Morrison: Fair enough._

_Jack Morrison: You remember where our rooms are?_

Jesse frowns and starts to ask ‘why’ before clearing the message, ignoring his curiosity.

_Jesse McCree: I do_

_Jack Morrison: Join me for breakfast._

_Jack Morrison: Fourty-five minutes and I should be done._

The ‘online’ indicator next to Morrison’s name goes dark and Jesse’s left staring at the screen.

\--

Jesse slips out of his room with a change of clothes and turns the shower as hot as it will go, letting the warmth seep into the chill of his bones.

He notices that as he’s scrubbing his arm they’re bigger, giving him reason to pause, lift his arm and try to wrap his fingers around his bicep.

But his thumb and middle finger aren’t even _close_ to wrapping half-way around.

How he hadn’t noticed until now, he’s not sure.

Jesse rubs at his arm for a minute, flexing and prodding at the muscles before speeding through the rest of his shower.

\--

Jesse knocks on the door to Gabe and Morrison’s rooms for the second time, after waiting three full minutes between knocks.

Morrison opens the door, wearing the base top of his uniform, sans the coat, and a pair of flannel pajama pants.

He presses a finger to his mouth then indicates to his headset before gesturing Jesse inside.

Jesse moves as silently as he can, slipping off his _boots,_ following Morrison into the living room where a laptop is open on the coffee table.

Morrison sits on the couch and sits up straighter before pressing a set of keys.

“Sorry about that,” Morrison says to the webcam.

Jesse lowers himself to sit next to the coffee table, out of sight.

Morrison glances at him briefly before intently focusing on the screen.

Jesse watches for the next ten minutes as Morrison mostly nods at things Jesse can’t hear.

Mostly the Commander replies with ‘Yes Sir’, ‘Yes Ma’am’, or ‘Yes Director’.

“Of course,” Morrison says, nodding, “I’ll send the paperwork to approve the discussed missions before the New Year.”

Jesse lifts a brow as Morrison closes the laptop, takes off the headset and slumps back into the couch.

Jesse stands up slowly, dusting off his hands, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I’m gonna assume you don’t take cinnamon in your coffee, right?” Jesse asks as he walks towards the kitchen.

“Eugh,” Morrison makes an exaggerated gagging sound, “God, no.”

The older man stands up from the couch, starts pulling off the uniform until he’s left in a sleeveless undershirt and his pajama pants.

Jesse starts up the coffee maker as Morrison comes in behind him.

They lean against opposing counters as they wait for the coffee maker to heat up.

“So,” Morrison says slowly, “Gabriel gave you your gifts, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jesse straightens up slightly, rubbing at his arm, “I couldn’t… Get you anythin’.”

“That’s fine, McCree,” Morrison says gently, reaching over and pressing the ‘brew’ button on the coffee maker, since Jesse hadn’t realized it was ready.

“If you…” Jesse takes a steadying breath, he knows Morrison won’t accept, but what else does he have to offer.

“I can-” He looks up at the older man, “I can do _other_ things, to pay you back.”

“What?” Morrison frowns at him, studying Jesse tiredly before his eyes widen, “ _Oh._ McCree, no, that’s not…”

Morrison clears his throat, rubs at his jaw, his cheeks flushing.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Offer’s open,” Jesse mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Morrison clears his throat again then steps over and pulls the carafe out, filling the two mugs.

The older man reaches for the cinnamon, pauses, hand hovering in the air then slowly dropping.

“There’s creamer in the fridge,” Morrison frowns, “I think. I would check the date.”

“It’s fine,” Jesse says quietly and accepts the mug when it’s passed over.

“Gabriel sent a notice that he’ll probably be back this afternoon, the mission went smoother than expected, so now it’s just a matter of flying back with a storm in the way.”

Jesse nods, sips on his coffee, watching the older man over the mug’s rim.

He belatedly realizes that this is Gabe’s mug, his stomach twists lightly.

It’s not even been twenty-four hours and he’s pressed to say it, but he misses his commander.

“Why did you want me to come here?” Jesse asks quietly.

Morrison blinks at him then slowly shrugs.

“You’ve become… Close, with Gabriel,” Morrison says hesitantly.

Jesse makes a small noise of agreement.

“He worries about you,” Morrison says, low, cautious, like he’s sharing a secret.

Jesse presses his lips together and lowers the coffee, cradling the mug in both hands, thinking about the same tone Gabe had taken a while back.

Informing Jesse of Morrison’s ‘soft spot’ for him.

“I know you’re…” Morrison sighs and scratches at his jaw, “I can see the way you feel about him, and I see a mirror of myself some years back. You idolize him.”

Jesse starts to protest and is cut off by a firm look from Morrison.

“It’s _fine,”_ The older man says, “Just keep it quiet.”

They both drink in silence for the next few minutes.

When Jesse runs out of coffee there’s nothing to occupy his mouth from asking.

“You _like_ Gabe?” Jesse asks hesitantly.

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, but it’s obviously _something_ based on the way Morrison is frowning at him.

“You call him ‘Gabe’?” Morrison asks incredulously.

Jesse’s face smooths in surprise, he shifts nervously.

“I… Uh,” Jesse sets the mug on the counter so he can cross his arms, “No?”

“You just…”

“I ain’t called him that to his face,” Jesse mutters.

“Hm,” Morrison studies him, “No one calls him that.”

“... I know.”

Morrison squints at him then leans in close, Jesse tensing, straightening up, but the older man just grabs the mug and puts them both in the sink.

“What’d you used to eat for breakfast?” Morrison asks.

“Before what?” Jesse asks hesitantly, “Overwatch?”

“Before Deadlock.”

“Ah,” Jesse shifts, rubs at his arm, the fading soreness of one of his injections, “That was a while ago.”

“You don’t remember?”

Jesse frowns, glances behind himself before lifting himself up onto the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“Do you remember what you ate?” Jesse asks, “Before everythin’?”

“Hm,” Morrison leans back, opposite of Jesse and squints up at the LED lights, “Pancakes, for sure.”

“I remember pancakes,” Jesse says softly, “With peach jam.”

Morrison hums quietly, steps past Jesse to open the fridge, leaning down to peer in.

“I can make pancakes,” Morrison turns his head to look up at Jesse, “That sound good?”

“Yeah,” Jesse nods, “Yessir.”

\--

Jesse and Morrison are sitting on the couch.

Eating pancakes.

Jesse looks up quickly when the door opens, Morrison lifting his head slower, tilting his head back to peer around Jesse.

Jesse tenses, watching Gabe as his commander studies him, avoiding meeting his commander’s gaze.

“You’re back early,” Morrison says, gestures with his fork towards the kitchen, “There’re pancakes.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabe says and kicks off his shoes, setting his bag down against the wall, “I was messaging you up until maybe ten minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Morrison huffs and then sighs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, “Left my tablet and phone on my bed.”

“Morning, McCree,” Gabe says.

“Mornin’,” Jesse says quietly.

“Hm,” Gabe turns down the hallway to his rooms, “I’m taking a shower.”

\--

Jesse stops eating, pushing his food around with his fork as his stomach rolls with anxiety.

He feels like he fucked up, and he doesn’t quite get why.

Does Gabe disapprove of him being here? Eating with Morrison? Eating without permission?

Should he have stayed in his room? Will Gabe forgive him?

Jesse presses the fork’s tongs into the piece of pancake until it’s unrecognizable mush.

Gabe comes out a few minutes later, dressed in dark gray sweats and a t-shirt.

Jesse can’t quite bring himself to meet his commander’s eyes.

“How was the flight back?” Morrison asks.

“Fine,” Gabe says and moves towards the kitchen.

Morrison frowns and gets up to follow the older man.

Jesse sets his fork and plate on the coffee table, hands trembling too hard to comfortably hold them any longer.

He can hear Morrison and Gabe talking quietly in the kitchen, growing from whispers to indignant hissing.

It feels like he’s at fault.

Jesse ears crackle when he swallows down his anxiety.

He slowly stands up and shuffles over to the archway into the kitchen.

The Commanders look at him.

“Can… Can I go back to my room?” Jesse asks quietly.

“Yes,” Morrison says gently.

“No,” Gabe says sharply.

The Commanders look back at each other before Gabe huffs loudly and moves towards Jesse, grabbing the younger’s shoulder, frog-marching him down his hallway, into the last room.

Jesse doesn’t fight it, but he can’t stop himself from tensing when he realizes he’s in his commander’s bedroom.

The door shuts behind them.

“Sir?”

“You told me you’d hardly spoken with Jack,” Gabe says lowly, “That you _hadn’t_ offered to let him fuck you, because ‘he ain’t the type’.”

“I hadn’t spoken to him much, and I hadn’t offered him shit,” Jesse says as firmly as he can, but his hands are trembling at his sides and he thought he wouldn’t have to be scared of his commander anymore.

But he is, he’s scared.

“ _He_ just told me otherwise.”

Jesse’s heart is beating way too fast as his commander moves past him, into the room.

Gabe sits on the bed, looking up at Jesse with his hands on his thighs, socked feet innocently splayed on the carpet.

Jesse shifts his weight from one leg to the other, waiting.

“Why’d you lie?” Gabe asks.

“I _didn’t,”_ Jesse whispers desperately, barely able to hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears.

“Then why would Jack lie, Jesse?” Gabe asks sharply, “Are you really asking me to trust _you_ over _him?”_

The panic has been building for a while but right now it swells.

Jesse’s chest feels too tight beneath his binder, his throat too narrow, like he’s breathing through a straw.

He drops to his knees at his commander’s feet.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse says hoarsely, “I’m- _Please.”_

“Please what?” Gabe asks tiredly, frowning down at him.

“I don’t want to leave, I- I’ll do anythin’, I swear,” Jesse says quickly, leaning in between Gabriel’s thighs, reaching for the waistband of the older man’s sweatpants, “I can be worth it, I _can.”_

“Hey,” Gabe says quickly and grabs Jesse’s wrists.

“Sir, _please,”_ Jesse whispers desperately, but lets his arms go lax in Gabe’s grip.

"Why'd you lie?" Gabe murmurs.

"I- I didn't."

Gabe huffs quietly and drops Jesse's wrist, shoving them away.

"I didn't," Jesse says shakily, feeling his eyes burning with tears threatening to spill over, "Please, I promise."

Gabe frowns down at him, frustrated, disappointed, exhausted.

There's a small knock on the door.

It opens behind Jesse and he tenses, bowing his head.

"Jesus, Gabriel," Morrison says sharply, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Literally nothing," Gabe says, just as sharp.

Morrison narrows his eyes at the older man.

"You said he had come here thinking you were going to fuck him," Gabe says lowly, "Why would he have thought that?"

"I said I had a theory," Morrison says stiffly, "And _I_ thought that because he _offered."_

"Jesse," Gabe says roughly, "You told me you _didn't_ offer him that kinda shit."

"No, no wait," Morrison says quickly, "He did that _today,_ only a short while ago."

Silence resounds in the room for a minute.

"... So, you didn't lie," Gabe says quietly, looking down at Jesse.

The younger sniffs weakly, tears slowly dripping off his cheeks, and shakes his head.

"Shit," Gabe mutters.

"Can I- Can I…?" Jesse stutters, dropping back to sit on his heels.

"Yes," Morrison says firmly, staring down Gabe, daring the older man to argue.

But Jesse doesn't move.

"McCree, you can go," Morrison says quietly.

Jesse shifts, then looks up at Gabe, begging silently for his commander's permission.

"Yeah, Kid," Gabriel whispers, "If you want to."

Jesse's shaking when he rises, turning and moving slowly to the doorway, head ducked.

He pauses, waiting for Morrison to move.

The Commander takes a few steps back and Jesse quickly bypasses him, going down the hall to the main door, closing it silently behind himself.

\--

Jesse doesn't show for lunch, either in the cafeteria or Gabe's office.

\--

Gabe has sandwiches and soup for them both at dinnertime in his office.

He sits back in his chair, arms crossed, brow deeply creased, staring at the door.

He's not sure how long he sits.

He knows the insulated pack and thermos will keep the food warm but he's getting impatient.

Gabe shifts in the chair, nearly decided on visiting Jesse's room when there's a quiet knock on his door.

"Come in," He says quickly.

Nothing happens for a moment then the door slowly opens.

Jesse steps in, closing the door and waiting, just inside Gabe's office.

Loyalty, obedience, those are expected of Jesse to some extent.

This? This is piety, this is pure submission.

"Jesse," Gabe says quietly, "Come sit."

Jesse comes closer to sit in his chair and Gabe uncrosses his arms, scooting closer to the desk.

"Hungry?"

"Yessir," Jesse whispers.

"You okay with spicy?"

Jesse nods.

Gabe unzips the insulated bag and pulls out everything, pushing one bowl and soup spoon towards Jesse along with the aluminum foil wrapped torta.

He pushes the thermos over as well.

"Pour how much you want," Gabe instructs quietly, studying Jesse.

Jesse glances up and sits forward, looking up further to meet Gabe's eyes, checking, checking, checking, triple-guessing his actions.

Jesse slowly grabs the thermos and, when Gabe says nothing, he pours a small amount of the soup in his bowl.

He gently pushes the thermos over to his commander, and pulls the bowl into his lap.

"What is it?" Jesse asks slowly.

"Just vegetable soup," Gabe says, serving himself and unwrapping his torta, "Sopa de Verduras."

Jesse hums quietly and starts eating.

"I'm sorry," Gabe says after a moment, "For not believing you."

Jesse pauses with the spoon between his mouth and the bowl then shrugs.

"Why should you?" He mumbles.

Gabe’s quiet.

“You don’t know me,” Jesse says reluctantly, "Not really."

“No,” Gabe says, “I don’t.”

Jesse presses his lips together, setting the spoon in the bowl.

“You know,” Gabe says, leaning back in his chair, “Doing what I do… How long I’ve been doing it? You learn pretty quick how to pick out those with bad intentions.”

Jesse looks up at him.

“I don’t get that from you,” Gabe says gently.

\--

Jesse walks back to his room slowly, belly full, anxiety mostly soothed.

He opens the door and flips on the lights and just…

Stands there.

He sighs quietly, rubs at his face before kicking off his boots and stripping down, climbing onto the bed and grabbing the hoodie from where he’d left it folded on his pillow.

He doesn’t pull it on.

Sitting on his bed naked, cross-legged, hugging the hoodie to his chest.

He stares at the seam where the floor and wall meet.

\--

He sits like that for almost six hours.

Not tired enough to lay down, not aware enough to do anything that would require more attention.

He feels floaty.

Being overwhelmed by so many emotions in such a short period of time has left him dizzy and conflicted.

He slowly turns and grabs his tablet off the dresser.

He opens the messaging app, taps on Gabe’s icon, though it’s dark, offline.

_Jesse McCree: Are you still in your office_

He drops the tablet onto the comforter and watches the screen.

Gabe’s icon turns green.

_Gabriel Reyes: No._

_Gabriel Reyes: Are you alright?_

Jesse presses his lips together and looks at the clock in the upper corner.

It’s past two in the morning.

Guilt pangs in his stomach and he considers not answering.

Realizes it’s too late for that.

_Gabriel Reyes: Jesse?_

_Jesse McCree: I don’t know_

_Gabriel Reyes: Are you in your room?_

_Jesse McCree: Yeah_

_Gabriel Reyes: Do you need me to come there?_

_Jesse McCree: Need?_

A few minutes pass with no response and Jesse rubs at his eyes.

Still raw from how hard he’d cried this morning.

_Gabriel Reyes: Do you want me to come there?_

Jesse takes a deep breath.

_Jesse McCree: Please_

\--

Jesse has the sense to pull the hoodie on, making sure it’s covering his crotch, but can’t muster the energy to do anything else.

There’s a quiet knock on his door.

“Yeah,” He says hoarsely.

The door opens and Gabe slips inside, pausing just past the threshold as the door closes behind him.

“Jesse?” Gabe asks softly.

Takes a small step closer.

“Kid?”

“I dunno what’s wrong,” Jesse murmurs, “I feel drunk.”

Gabe takes another step closer.

“Okay…” Gabe says hesitantly, “Do you not wanna lay down?”

“I dunno.”

Gabe sighs quietly and Jesse tenses.

He’s wasting his commander’s time, acting like this.

Pathetic, weak, childish, dependent-

“Jess, what’s wrong?” Gabe crouches in front of him, “Really.”

“Sorry,” Jesse whispers.

“Kid… Why are you apologizing?”

“Because _I don’t know,”_ Jesse says hoarsely, “I don’t seem to know anythin’, lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just…” Jesse lifts a hand to rub weakly at the side of his face, tucking his legs to the side, “Everythin’s different and I don’t know how any of it works.”

“That’s why you’re in training,” Gabe says gently, “You aren’t expected to know anything about how things work here, not with your background.”

Jesse falls silent, rubbing at the stinging edges of his eyes.

“Are you tired?” Gabe asks.

“... Not really.”

Gabe frowns up at him for a second then gently taps a knuckle against Jesse’s knee.

“Do you wanna go spar?” Gabe asks, “Wear yourself out?”

Jesse thinks about it for a moment... Nods.

“Okay, we can do that. Why don’t you get dressed?”

\--

Jesse sits on a stack of training mats wearing a pair of tight training pants and a compression tank.

Against one wall of the private training room as Gabe moves some things around, clearing a wide space.

“Come here,” Gabe says as he stands up straight from pushing a vaulting bar out of the way.

Jesse slips off the mats and walks up to his commander.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Gabe says quietly, “You wanna try taking me down?”

“Yeah,” Jesse whispers.

\--

Jesse hisses as Gabe twists the younger’s arm up behind him.

They’re three-to-three in a best-four-out-of-five challenge.

He jerks to one side and drops to the ground, turning on the ball of his foot to leverage his arm out of the hold, rising to his feet again.

Gabe raises a brow at him and steps sideways.

And then sideways again, starting to circle Jesse.

Jesse tenses, socked toes curling against the mat beneath as he turns to keep his commander in sight.

The set of Gabe’s shoulders changes and Jesse readies himself.

Gabe lunges and Jesse sidesteps it, using the older man’s momentum to tackle him to the mat.

Gabe grunts loudly as he lands on his side, Jesse on his stomach.

Gabe breathes quietly, turning onto his back, looking up at Jesse.

“I win,” Jesse murmurs.

“Good job,” Gabe says quietly.

Jesse watches him and Gabe waits.

Can tell the younger is trying to process something.

Jesse shifts back slightly then leans down, laying on Gabe’s chest with his cheek pressed to the older man’s shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Head hurts,” Jesse whispers.

Gabe glances over at the clock display and sees the numbers saying that it’s past four in the morning.

“Like your other headaches?”

“Mm,” Jesse shifts and turns his face into Gabe’s neck, “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to contact Doctor Ziegler?”

“Nn.”

Gabe slowly brings his hand up to settle on Jesse’s mid-back.

“You tired yet?” Gabe whispers.

“Mm-hm.”

“Wanna head back to your room?”

Jesse doesn’t answer.

“Jess?”

Gabe cranes his neck to look down at Jesse.

The kid’s eyes are closed, lips parted, face lax.

Gabe huffs near-silently.

Rubs his fingers up and down Jesse’s spine with one hand as he rubs at his eyes with the other.

“Come on, Jesse,” Gabe murmurs and sits up, Jesse slumping into his lap.

The younger shifts and whines in protest.

“Let’s go to your room, yeah?” Gabe asks, “Don’t you wanna be in your bed?”

“No,” Jesse mutters, “Don’t wanna.”

“You wanna stay here?” Gabe asks, brows furrowing.

“With you,” Jesse slurs, pushing his face into Gabe’s neck insistently, _“With you.”_

Gabe stares down at Jesse’s socked feet on either side of his thighs.

He gets the hand not holding Jesse under himself and pushes them both up, steadying Jesse on his feet.

Jesse tilts his head back, looking up at him with lowered eyelids, barely awake.

“Come on,” Gabe says.

\--

Getting Jesse back to the younger’s room is a hassle at first, half carrying his agent.

Eventually Jesse wakes up enough from the movement to walk on his own, but his gait is slow and Gabe anxiously hovers when the younger stumbles.

He opens the door for Jesse when they get there and nudges the younger inside.

Jesse crawls onto his bed, laying down against the wall under the window.

“You good?” Gabe asks.

Jesse nods, pulling the comforter over himself until just his face is showing.

“Okay,” Gabe murmurs and moves to mess with Jesse’s alarm clock, turning off the alarms for the day.

“Will you message me when you wake up?” Gabe asks.

“Yeah,” Jesse whispers rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Gabe’s chest feels…

Full, in a way.

His fondness of Jesse like an ever-expanding pressure within him.

“I’m gonna go, okay?” Gabe says softly.

“M’kay,” Jesse mumbles, closing his eyes, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is jerky, it's meant to be, a lot happens with a lot of time skips, mind the updated tags.

Jesse wakes up slowly, the light coming through his window streaking across his face. 

He grumbles tiredly, opens his eyes. 

The sun is in a low, afternoon position. 

Last night and this morning come back to him in bits and pieces and he slowly sits up. 

He remembers Gabe’s instructions, though, and squirms across the bed to grab his tablet. 

He finds his conversation with Gabe from last night and re-reads it. 

Rubbing at his eyes when he gets to the end. 

He opens the text box, noting that Gabe is already online.

And that it’s three in the afternoon.

_Jesse McCree: Awake_

_Gabriel Reyes: Thought I was going to have to perform a wake-up call._

Jesse snorts out loud and props the tablet up so he can read as he gets dressed. 

_Gabriel Reyes: Feeling better?_

_Jesse McCree: Yes_

_Jesse McCree: Thank you_

_Gabriel Reyes: Come to the targets._

Jesse frowns at the message as he pulls on a sweatshirt. 

\--

Gabe’s holding a revolver. 

Jesse’s brows lift when he recognizes it as his own. 

“I got notice of your _tentative_ gun clearance,” Gabe says and shifts the revolver, “I have to be present with you if you’re carrying.”

“Why do you have _my_ gun?” Jesse asks hesitantly. 

Gabe frowns, wrinkling his nose then sighing. 

“There are multiple reasons Overwatch wanted you,” Gabe says slowly, “But one big reason you ended up with _me.”_

Jesse frowns back at the older man. 

“Your gun was brought in and studied to make sure it wasn’t somehow special or augmented,” Gabe says, flipping open the cylinder, “But it’s not.”

“It _is_ special,” Jesse mutters, “But I see what you’re gettin’ at.”

“So, what is it?” Gabe asks, righting the gun, “Deadlock tech or…?”

“I dunno.”

Gabe’s brows furrow harshly. 

“It’s not something we’ll hold against you, Kid,” Gabe says stiffly, “But we need to know.”

“S’just a party trick kinda thing,” Jesse shrugs roughly and crosses his arms, “I figured it out when I was young, y’know, shootin’ bottles and cans? It comes in handy.”

“You know I don’t believe that.”

Jesse takes a sharp breath in, head tilted down, eyes avoidant. 

“You’re not in trouble,” Gabe says soothingly, studying his agent, trying to get a read on Jesse, trying to find a weak point.

Jesse’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t look up. 

Gabe hesitates, then slowly reaches a hand up to cup one of Jesse’s shoulders, feeling the younger tense under his touch. 

“Alright,” Gabe murmurs, stomach twisting as he hears his own calming tone, his thumb rubbing over the crook of Jesse’s neck, “How about a deal?”

Jesse looks up at him through his eyelashes. 

Cautious. 

Curious. 

“You show me, and you don’t have to explain it, _yet,”_ Gabe says softly, subtly leaning in as he squeezes Jeese’s nape.

Jesse presses back into the touch, glancing down at his gun, frowning slightly then holding out his hand. 

Gabe hands it over, absolutely no reservations about arming Jesse. 

Jesse reluctantly steps back and looks across the grounds to the targets. 

There are plenty to pick from, but he goes for the closest six. 

Checking the chamber, glancing at Gabe then closing his eyes tightly. 

Feeling his blood rushing, senses sharpening. 

He opens his eyes and pulls the trigger. 

Again. 

Again.

Again. 

Again.

Again.

His head throbs and he lowers his revolver, bringing one hand up to press hard against his forehead. 

“You alright?” Gabe asks quietly, wrapping one arm around Jesse’s shoulders to support the younger as Jesse sways slightly. 

“Haven’t done it in a while,” Jesse whispers. 

“You can just… Do it on command?” 

“Not always," Jesse says slowly, guarded. 

Gabe reads the defensiveness immediately and pushes down his interrogative train of thought.

"Okay," Gabe sighs quietly then squeezes Jesse's shoulders, "C'mon, let's take a rest and see how you feel later."

\--

Gabe's idea of a rest is bullying Jesse into his and Morrison's quarters and all-but ordering him to lay down on the couch. 

"How long does this last?" Gabe asks as he crouches next to Jesse. 

"Hour or so," Jesse mutters, eyes closed and a cold rag over his forehead, "Don't usually use it 'less I'm desperate."

"Would you be willing to do it with some biomonitors on?" 

"... Can I…" Jesse frowns and peeks one eye open, "Can I wait a lil' while?"

"No, no, not _now,"_ Gabe clarifies, reaching out to fix the washcloth, "In a week or so, once Dr. Ziegler is back."

Jesse's frown gradually turns neutral and the younger sighs quietly. 

"Yeah, okay," Jesse mutters. 

\--

Jesse takes a deep breath, crouching behind the makeshift cover of a filing cabinet. 

There are two ‘enemies’ roaming the ‘office’, his orders are to get in, download a specific file from a specific computer, and get out, unnoticed. 

He breezed through the first level of solo simulations with little issue. 

Then he started level two and everything went to hell. 

‘Four stars, four stars,’ he thinks, the words echoing out then cycling back to the front of his mind with his every slip up. 

Each time one of the enemy AIs sense him he’s knocked down half a star. 

He’s already been heard twice, one more time and he doesn’t meet Gabe’s expectation of him. 

Jesse closes his eyes tightly, just taking a moment, this particular mission isn’t timed, thank god.

He rises enough to peek over the cabinet, scanning the room before darting forward to slip between the rows of desks, bouncing from computer to computer, searching for the right one. 

He’d gotten a profile of the person who would use his target computer, and now he's trying to piece together whether ‘Maria’ would have a daisy solar clock next to a cup of yellow paperclips or not. 

He looks at every computer station, taking in as many details as possible before the AI closest circles back and would be able to spot him. 

He drops under the last computer, carefully wedging himself between the wall and the front of the chair. 

He watches the robot containing the AI pass and waits until he hears the wheels turn and head towards the back of the room. 

Jesse slips out from under the desk and heads back to the desk with the daisy clock, gut instinct driving him to plug in the extracting device, mentally counting the seconds that pass. 

80% 

That’s as far as he gets before a piercing alarm sounds and all the lights turn on. 

Jesse whips around to see the second robot flashing red, having spotted him, absolutely not on the path Jesse had previously tracked. 

“What the fuck?” Jesse asks, frustration bursting out of him like a firework, bright and loud and he turns around, marching out of the simulation into the reviewing room. 

Only to nearly run into Gabe, his commander posed to open the same door Jesse nearly slams open. 

Jesse freezes and swallows his anger quickly at the look Gabe is leveling him with. 

Not anger, not even disappointment, but amusement. 

Jesse’s stomach rolls and he drops his gaze, shame crawling in his rib cage, along every bone, expanding and pressing in on his lungs. 

“You didn’t think there’d be an alternate route, huh?” Gabe asks quietly, moving out of the way. 

“No,” Jesse mutters. 

“Rookie mistake,” Gabe says smoothly, shrugging. 

“They’re fuckin’ robots,” Jesse bites out.

“And they’re programmed to be just as unpredictable as a human guard would be,” Gabe says soothingly, “You can’t get cocky and drop your guard.”

Jesse clenches his jaw then lets out a rough breath scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Take a break, Kid. You don’t have to do them all at once.”

“You gave me until _May.”_

“... Jesse,” Gabe murmurs, “I wasn’t being serious about that. It was just a goal to motivate you, not a necessary minimum.”

Jesse makes a rough sound of acknowledgment but the words don’t penetrate. 

Gabe thought he _could_ get four stars on all the solo simulations, but Jesse’s coming up short of that and it _hurts._

Gabe’s hand curls around the cap of his shoulder and squeezes lightly before turning Jesse around and walking them out into the hallway. 

“You eaten today?” Gabe asks. 

“No,” Jesse says weakly, “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Sorry.”

Gabe sighs quietly like he’s annoyed, but his thumb rubs across the back of Jesse’s shoulder soothingly. 

Jesse crosses his arms tightly, fidgeting with his shirt sleeves as they walk, not really paying attention to where they’re going. 

He’s expecting his room, Gabe’s office. 

But they turn down the hall with the training rooms and Jesse frowns, lifting his head slightly. 

Gabe opens the door and nudges him in. 

Jesse hesitates, then slowly crouches to unlace his boots. 

“You been sleeping okay?” Gabe asks but his tone tells Jesse that the Commander already knows the answer. 

“No,” Jesse mutters and yanks off his shirt, lifting his hair off his damp nape as he watches Gabe set up the mats. 

“Come here.”

Jesse rises fluidly and brushes off his hands, walking up until he’s within arm’s reach of his commander. 

“Had that bot been a human, what would you have done?”

“Gotten shot,” Jesse mutters petulantly. 

Gabe huffs quietly. 

“You’re unarmed, security at the entrance is too good,” Gabe says quietly, “One guard is in the room, the other just outside. You have less then a minute after they spot you, and you have to be quiet.”

Jesse swallows and meets Gabe’s eyes slowly. 

“Ready?” Gabe asks, taking a few steps back and turning to the side, looking away. 

“Shit,” Jesse sighs, “Yeah.”

Gabe shakes his head lightly in amusement but casually starts to turn towards Jesse. 

Jesse darts to the side, going low and as soon as their eyes meet he launches himself forward, swiping Gabe’s legs out from under the older man then quickly moving so he can soften part of the fall by wrapping his arms around Gabe’s chest, both restraining the older man and dampening the impact by catching some of Gabe’s weight. 

Gabe grunts quietly as his ass hits the floor and Jesse’s adrenaline is soaring as he shifts his body up and pins Gabe’s arms to the older man’s sides with his thighs, one hand moving to clamp down over Gabe’s mouth, the other hesitating over Gabe’s trachea when their eyes meet.

Gabe’s brows are furrowed, staring up at the younger. 

Jesse struggles to swallow, throat feeling thick. 

Gabe bites his hand and Jesse gasps in surprise, ripping his hands away and unknowingly benefiting the older man as he unbalances himself.

Gabe sits up roughly, toppling Jesse backwards and pinning the younger down firmly. 

Jesse squirms, struggling but Gabe has weight on him, pressing down on his arms, knees diggin into Jesse’s inner thighs. 

“You fucked up.”

“What?” Jesse asks hoarsely. 

“You hesitated.”

Jesse’s face screws up in confusion. 

“Since when am I supposed to follow through the fatal moves?” Jesse asks, annoyance clear in his voice. 

He clenches his jaw and renews his struggling, twisting his hands around to dig his nails into Gabe’s hands. 

Gabe moves quicker, and Jesse doesn’t bother to try and evade as Gabe pins his hands with one larger hand, pressing them down on Jesse’s sternum. 

“Fatal?”

“Coulda’ crushed your throat,” Jesse mutters. 

“I doubt that.”

“You ain’t invincible,” Jesse says quietly, “You know I’ve gotten stronger.”

“You aren’t _that_ strong,” Gabe says and pointedly presses down more firmly, shifting to kneel between Jesse’s thighs, “Try to get free.”

Jesse growls quietly and kicks at Gabe’s thighs, trying to unsettle the older man’s position. 

When that gets himself nowhere, he wraps his legs around Gabe’s hips and tries to throw his weight and switch their positions. 

But Gabe holds firm and Jesse feels his face growing hot. 

“Have you been lettin’ me take you down?” Jesse asks hoarsely. 

“You’ve never won a round that I was using my full strength,” Gabe says evenly. 

Jesse closes his eyes, breathing shallowly through his nose. 

“Do _not,_ under any circumstance, no matter who you’re up against, assume that you are stronger, or faster, or have the upper hand in any way,” Gabe murmurs, “There’s always something you don’t know.”

Jesse keeps his eyes closed until he feels Gabe’s grip on his hands loosen. 

Then he grinds his hips against the older man’s squeezing with his thighs hooked over Gabe’s hips. 

The older man tenses and starts to lift up. 

Jesse clings, forcing the older man to lift his weight up as well. 

“Jesse,” Gabe says quietly, moving his hands to the younger’s waist, “Wha-?”

Jesse throws his body against Gabe using the older man’s weight to make them both crash to the mat. 

Jesse wraps his fingers around Gabe’s throat and presses down firmly, covering the older man’s mouth with his other hand. 

Gabe studies him neutrally.

“You don’t use your ‘full strength’ when you’re distracted,” Jesse says quietly, anger soft and vicious. 

He shifts his hips to rock his ass against Gabe’s cock. 

Seeing the older man’s eyes sharpen, not quite widening, but gaze intensifying, focusing on Jesse. 

“If you don’t want me to think I’m stronger than I am,” Jesse whispers, leaning down to level with Gabe, trying to let every ounce of anger and hurt he can muster show on his face, “Why the fuck were you lyin’ to me?”

Gabe’s brows furrow and he murmurs against Jesse’s palm. 

“Unless you wanted to humiliate me?” Jesse asks, letting his voice break, his brows to upturn in the center, trying to look as much as the kicked puppy Gabe sometimes views him as. 

Gabe murmurs against his hand again, tone apologetic and soothing. 

Jesse lifts his hand enough to let Gabe speak. 

“That’s not-“ Gabe clears his throat quietly and Jesse feels the older man swallow under his grip, “You’ve taken me down, genuinely, when you surprised me or…”

Gabe shifts under him, looking _almost_ embarrassed and Jesse raises a brow, expression falling neutral. 

Gabe blinks up at him. 

“Oh, you little shit,” Gabe’s brows raise incredulously as he whispers, “That was an act?”

“Mm.”

Gabe huffs through his nose and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“Stronger, faster, smarter, even?” Jesse mutters, “I know I’m not, but I’ll always fight dirtier than you, it seems.”

Gabe huffs again, sharper and sits up, holding Jesse’s waist, the younger sitting in his lap. 

Jesse glances down at his hand around Gabe’s throat and slowly moves both his hands to the older man’s shoulders, balancing himself. 

Gabe squeezes his waist lightly and nudges him back. 

“Come on, get up, you need food and _sleep.”_

\--

By February Jesse’s halfway through level 3 out of 5, working through simulations, sparring, and then eating dinner with Gabe becomes routine. 

He doesn’t always sleep well, but on average he sleeps _better._

Safe, worn out, he’s able to curl up with Gabe’s sweatshirt and snooze ‘til dawn. 

“You don’t have to use that… Trick, for simulations, it’s not necessary to have dead-eye aim in them,” Gabe says quietly as he circles Jesse. 

“What if I’d use it for real?” Jesse asks, lighter on his feet than usual, riding the high of two five star simulations in a row. 

Gabe watches him bounce around, evading the older man’s jabs, a small amount of amusement on his face. 

Gabe turns on him quickly and slides his fingers into Jesse’s hair as he tackles the younger to the mat. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Jesse whines in protest as Gabe uses the grip on his hair to hold his head up off the mat. 

“You should cut it,” Gabe says, stretching Jesse’s neck to one side, making the younger gasp. 

“Don’t wanna,” Jesse bites out. 

“Pretty convenient handle,” Gabe says quietly, “You know that’s why our uniforms are so fitted, right? Harder to find purchase.”

Jesse struggles lightly, a small sound escaping him. 

Leaning a little too far towards sounding like a product of pleasure instead of pain. 

Gabe’s fingers relax in shock, then slowly re-grip the strands, fingertips pressed to Jesse’s scalp. 

“That’s also a liability, Jesse,” Gabe says awkwardly. 

“S’not…” Jesse gasps shakily and squirms, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, “It’s you.”

“What?” 

“It’s cause it’s _you,”_ Jesse whispers, cheeks burning. 

“... Oh,” Gabe says and slowly lets go, getting up. 

Jesse takes a moment to collect himself then flips over, looking up at his commander nervously. 

Every other situation that was less than platonic had been initiated by him. 

And though Gabe didn’t mean to start this, Jesse burns with it. 

Gabe looks around the room avoidantly then reaches down to help Jesse up. 

“Let’s just… Go eat.”

\--

Jesse's allowed to join the group sparring sessions.

He doesn't jive with the other agents.

He sticks out like a sore thumb, from his, though stronger than a few months ago, slight frame to his non-standard haircut to the fact he's the only masc person with their shirt still on.

Even the way he moves, no formal training, no playbook of engrained maneuvers, just intuition and self-preservation.

Gabe sits to the side, picking people to match up, each pairing stepping into the middle of the mats one at a time while Gabe takes notes and occasionally calls out criticism in a dry tone.

It's very very different from their private sparring and Jesse fumbles it hard. 

He feels clumsy in his both-black-but-somehow-mismatched socks as he ducks a punch and instinctively moves to sink his teeth into his opponent's stupidly toned arm. 

He barely stomps down that feral urge in time but it makes him hesitate 

There's a rough blow to the side of his head and he twists his wrist as he's knocked out of his crouching position. 

"Shit," The other agent says, "Sorry, thought you'd straighten up faster than that." 

Jesse has his eyes closed tight against the pain, cradling his head, barely able to hear the apology over the ringing in his ears. 

"McCree?" He hears Gabe call from his perch.

"'M fine," Jesse mutters and carefully gets to his feet, trying not to wobble despite the way his brain feels like it's tilting in the opposing direction of his body. 

He moves off the mat, accepting the defeat unceremoniously, going to sit in the corner, away from the other agents.

He doesn't do it consciously, separating himself, it's just instinct.

That's all he has.

\--

_He doesn't jive with the other agents._

They all seem to either look down on him, for his lack of experience, lack of skill, how he was let into their ranks despite not going through any of the training they all suffered through. 

Or they just don't trust him, see him only for his past, the tattoos branding him to his old gang. 

He tries eating lunch with them or hanging in Blackwatch’s commons in the evening but he can tell no one wants him there. 

A few weeks ago he found a staircase, out of the way, something he’d never have found if not for his new habit of waking up too early and wandering the buildings. 

There’s a bench, overlooking the water, the mountains in the distance almost always blanketed with fog. 

He gets to watch the sun rise, pinking the sky and glittering on the water until it’s blinding him, and he closes his eyes, soaking in the warmth on his face. 

Jesse doesn’t really go outside, much, since being brought here.

It’s getting warmer, finally, but Gabe still favors the indoor range. 

His skin gets a little more golden, richer and glowing. 

He hadn’t noticed until he sees himself in the bathroom mirror, bags under his eyes a little less prominent, eyes bright. 

He looks _alive._

\--

Jesse’s first mission is an absolute disaster. 

He probably won’t remember it as the day of his first mission. 

Rather, the day he lost his arm. 

Gabe stares down at the bandaged stump, hand over his mouth, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

Jesse’s heart monitor is steady, a low thrumming that takes backseat to his racing thoughts. 

Gabe scrubs his face, wonders if Jesse will ever forgive him. 

\--

Jesse doesn’t wake slowly, or calmly. 

He sees Gabe, in flashes, then hears the blast, feels the searing pain, seeing the blood and bone and wakes with a violent gasp. 

He sees Gabe, again, this time solid and startled, quickly standing and moving closer. 

“Jesse,” Gabe says soothingly, “It’s okay, it’s _okay.”_

Jesse’s breathing is frantic and shallow and Gabe sees when Jesse _sees._

The younger staring down at the remnants of his arm.

“Oh my god,” Jesse whispers. 

“I’m so sorry, Kid,” Gabe whispers and sits slowly next to Jesse. 

Jesse doesn’t respond, face pinched in confusion and hurt and so many emotions that pass through quickly. 

Settling on guilt. 

Jesse lifts his head sharply, the clarity of memory in his eyes, as he checks over Gabe visually. 

“Are you alright?” Jesse asks quickly, syllables slurring with the speed at which they’re expelled. 

“... I’m fine,” Gabe says slowly.

Jesse reaches forward, both arms moving, breathes in sharply when the fact is forced into the space between them. 

His severed arm drops back next to him and he takes up Gabe’s hand with his remaining one. 

Gabe swallows thickly as Jesse brushes his thumb over the litany of cuts and scrapes covering Gabe’s hand, nearly healed only a day later. 

“You were right next to me,” Jesse whispers, “I saw you get thrown.”

“... We didn’t know,” Gabe said, “That there’d even be a _threat_ of explosives.”

Jesse frowns, closes his eyes, squeezes Gabe’s hand, looks down at the bandaged stump of his arm. 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Jesse whispers, voice soaked in fear, thick and tearful. 

“What?”

“I’m… Am I gon’ have to leave?”

“No,” Gabe says sharply, “No, no, Jesse. No way.”

“But I’m…” Jesse swallows loudly, laughs hysterically, _“I was left handed.”_

“We can get you a prosthetic,” Gabe whispers, “Once you're healed.”

Jesse is quiet for a moment then breathes in shakily, the exhale leaving him in a bitten back sob. 

Gabe gathers him up, quick and careful, pressing his palm into Jesse's spine to hold the younger as close as he can, lips resting on Jesse's hair as the younger cries into his neck. 

He murmurs apologies and gentle reassurances, staring out the window and knowing that ultimately, they're useless.

\--

Gabe’s only seen Jesse cry a handful of times. 

At first, fear was the common cause. 

But as Jesse settled, there were fewer and fewer tears, usually only born of frustration or pain. 

Then the kid lost his arm and it’s just another fucking regression. 

Jesse spends a week in bed, being assaulted by medical professionals assisting doctor Ziegler. 

Gabe tries to stick around but work calls him away.

\--

Work calls him away.

\--

"How are the simulations going?"

"Fine," Jesse mutters, rolling a coin back and forth across his fingers as he stares at the tablet, a couple-years-old picture of Gabe staring back at him, almost scowling.

"You get stuck again?"

 _"No,"_ Jesse says defensively.

"Then why do you sound so annoyed?"

Jesse frowns at the tablet, dropping the coin, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow, breathing in the remnants of Gabe's cologne on the older man's hoodie. 

"Jesse?" 

"... I miss you," Jesse mutters, "Weird you bein' gone so long."

"... I'll be back soon," Gabe says slowly. 

"Okay," Jesse says, doesn't care to admit that he sounds pathetic.

"How… How's the new arm?" 

"S'interestin'," Jesse says, trying to sound neutral.

"You mean 'weird', right?" 

"Yeah," Jesse mutters, pursing his lips in annoyance at Gabe reading him so easily. 

"You doing the exercises?"

"... Yes."

"Jesse."

"What?"

Gabe's sigh comes through the speaker and Jesse curls in on himself slightly.

"It hurts," Jesse whispers. 

"It's going to hurt more if you _don't,_ Jess."

Jesse makes a frustrated sound and flops onto his back, staring into the dark at the ceiling. 

"You tired?" 

"No. You ain't here to run me ragged." 

"You could ask Jack."

Jesse laughs quietly.

"Seriously, Jesse, I can talk to him."

"I'll manage."

There's a small silence between them and Jesse shifts on the covers. 

"What time is it there?" Jesse asks. 

"Uh…" There's some rummaging on Gabe's end, a thump of the tablet being jostled, "Two."

"Shit… Sorry," Jesse sighs, "You don't gotta keep talkin' to me." 

"I was already up."

"Doin' what?" 

"Not sleeping."

Jesse huffs quietly, smiling at the ceiling.

"Even if I _was_ sleeping, you can call me. If I don't answer I'm in the field or a meeting."

Jesse takes a deep breath at the warmth in Gabe's voice. 

His gut twists, reflecting that warmth. 

He squirms lightly, pressing his legs together. 

"How's it goin'?" Jesse asks quietly.

"You know I can't give details."

"Gimme a general rating."

"A rating?" Gabe asks lowly, sounding distracted and amused.

"Y'know, five stars, excellent service, complimentary fruit basket."

Gabe does laugh then, tired and rich and Jesse swallows hard.

Gabe hums in contemplation and the low sound goes straight between Jesse's legs.

He glances at the tablet nervously, like Gabe could somehow see him.

"Two stars, unfriendly staff, horrible food."

"Shit," Jesse says, trying not to let his voice waver, "Harsh."

His right hand's settled on his lower stomach, fiddling with the hem of the hoodie. 

"Could be worse."

"Sure."

"... You been eating?"

"Yeah," Jesse murmurs.

"You lying to me?" Gabe asks lowly and Jesse has to bite back a whimper.

"No, Sir."

He toys with the waistband of his boxers, then slips his fingers under. 

"Good boy," Gabe says, tone absent and distracted again.

Jesse hears papers shuffling. 

"You're gettin' your Christmas present," Jesse says quietly as he slides his fingers into his slit, "Pro'ly next week."

"Oh?" Gabe asks, sounding present, intrigued. 

Jesse reaches his prosthetic towards the tablet tapping a couple of keys awkwardly, forwarding his stats to Gabe. 

 _"Oh,"_ Gabe drawls, the hum that follows low and rumbling.

Jesse bites hard on the inside of his cheek, hips lifting into his touch.

"Very good, Jesse," Gabe murmurs, "You're ranking, actually."

"Ranking?" Jesse asks breathily.

"Top six, all time averages."

"Huh," Jesse drags his fingers through his slick.

"Proud of you."

Jesse's breathing stutters, fingertips catching on his clit.

"Jesse?"

"Yeah?" Jesse whispers. 

"You… Alright?"

"Yessir."

"Tired yet?" 

"Nah," Jesse stretches, spreading his legs slightly. 

"... What are you doing, Jesse?" Gabe whispers.

"Somethin' stupid."

He hears Gabe inhale a little deeper, a little sharp.

"Shit," Gabe mutters, "You drunk?"

"Where the hell would I be able to get alcohol here?" Jesse asks wryly, slipping two fingers into himself. 

"Jesse."

"Should I stop, Sir?"

"... No."

Jesse laughs breathily then bites back a moan, curling his fingers inside himself.

"Jesus," Gabe whispers as the sound of Jesse pumping his fingers in and out carries.

"Not quite," Jesse says shakily.

"Brat," Gabe mutters.

Jesse hears shifting from the other side of the call, reaches over to turn the sound up. 

Hears fabric rustling. 

Jesse whimpers lightly and adds a third finger.

"You like having an audience?" Gabe asks quietly.

"Like it cause it's you," Jesse whispers.

"Yeah?" Gabe asks lowly, "You remember all those promises you made me? Promising to let me use you, pup?"

Jesse whimpers sharply, clenching down on his fingers. 

"Still sticking to those?"

 _"Yeah,"_ Jesse gasps, "Please, Gabe."

Silence meets him and Jesse realizes what he just said. 

"Shit… I… Sor-"

"Say it again."

"... Gabe," Jesse whispers.

"Christ, Jesse," Gabe mutters. 

"Like it?"

"Yeah, baby," Gabe says quietly and Jesse closes his eyes tightly, tentatively moving his prosthetic down. 

The synthetic material on his fingertips feels foreign on his clit, but he powers through. 

"Gabe," Jesse whines, "Gabe, please?" 

"Please, what?"

"Want you," Jesse whispers, "Been wantin' you so long."

"How long?"

"Th-That day you gave me my boots," Jesse whispers, "Reason I was so flustered… Was still wet, came callin'... Beggin' for you."

"Fuck," Gabe whispers. 

Jesse rubs his nub a little harder, faster, fucking himself deeper. 

“... Fuck,” Gabe says again, but the tone is entirely different, “Jesse, I gotta go.”

“What?” Jesse asks hazily, stilling his movements.

“I’m sorry… I-” Gabe inhales deeply, slightly muffled, “I’m being called away.”

“... Oh,” Jesse says weakly, nausea coiling red-hot in his stomach. 

“... I’ll be back soon, okay?” Gabe says over the sounds of rustling papers, “Do your exercises.”

The call cuts. 

Jesse licks his lips and pulls his hands away from himself, watching as the screen times out and goes dark. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr or twitter @gwennolmarie
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.gwennolmarie.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com)


End file.
